#i constantly think he has the pedal to the metal and then he shifts it up another foquing gear

[violetsiren90]

JK was really like, I know y'all sad because Yoongi hyung is leaving so let me present you with a mood board of how badly you want my dick.

Y'know, in case you forgot.

[bitchiha]

To Eternal Bliss, I’m so Glad to Know (ModernAU!Hidan x Reader)

The Rats 1k event prompt: Street racer x Hidan

A/N: hey.. aha.. how y'all doing.. hum so i haven't been doing great, I think that is evident through my inactivity on this blog, but that being said i am in a bit of a better place now. i finally have some time to myself and i intend to put that towards my 900 follower event. Enjoy this wonderful piece of modern racer Hidan that strayed into crazy murder himbo I love car man Hidan.

Title inspired by: this song.

MAJOR TWs: smut, harassment (brief, undescriptive), uhm murter, reckless driving, lots of mentions of and contemplations of death. You are a literal accomplice to murter. Reader is confused. But.. It’s not supposed to be gory and dark, I kinda wanted it to just be stupid and reflect a himbo hidan as much as I could. Last like 6 paragraphs aren’t edited.

-

You shouldn’t be in a criminals car, much less in the middle of a police chase and much much less be falling in love with him.

 His silver hair flashes wildly in the occasional flicker of red and blue lights, teeth bared; he was making that face again. That one he had when he first met you, lips curled and canines showing. It looked like he was in pain. It was just because he was actually trying to use his brain, you think. He grips the wheel tightly, the whites of his pale knuckles glowing as he swerves onto one of the busiest city streets you know. 

Barely avoiding a collision with a distinct yellow blur you could barely classify as a taxi, he continued to speed through the lanes, horns blaring and merging into the sound of the wailing sirens quickly approaching. Another sharp turn onto a slightly less busy road had your body slamming against the console, leaning close to Hidan. Your eyes stray from the window and onto his face, unable to hear what he is saying, you make out the movement of his lips:

shit,shit,shiiit 

The tires screeched as he fumbled around with the controls, sending the car into a full 180 and narrowly avoiding a police car sacrificing its auto body in favour of capturing Jashin. That was real close call, just scratching the side of the passenger door, but you wouldn't know; you were still watching your boyfriends features as he speeds off down another dirty alley. 

You were pretty sure that one day you were going to die trapped in Hidans little metal box.. A distant part of you wanted to throw up when you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sure, he was obnoxiously annoying in the most serious of times and incredibly oblivious when you desperately needed him to get a clue. I mean fuck, it felt like despite his adolescent years of elementary and secondary school (which you’re not even sure he attended) his brain only had the capacity to process two things. The first being lewd shit and the second would be the gas pedal... and maybe half a braincell was in there thinking of you, but probably only of you in your panties or something really shallow like that. 

You really shouldn’t love him. 

Barrelling down the alley he randomly slammed the breaks down, the lack of warning sending you flying forward. Bracing yourself to be slammed into the front of car, but just when you thought you were going to break your nose Hidan reversed, sending your body backwards instead. You yelped and he sent you a stupid little apologetic curl of his lip before twisting his body, hand coming to your chair for support as he sped the car backwards through the trash littered street. You didn't understand why he suddenly changed his mind about the direction until a few seconds later when a black and white cop car swerved down the alley in the direction you were back pedalling from. Hidan must have known they were going to try and cut his route off.    

  At the sight of the police vehicle your boyfriend impulsively slammed the breaks, rolling his window down and leaning his head out of it, “Ha, you stupid fucks think you could catch Jashin with some lame shit like that? I could smell that from a mile away!” From your boyfriends childish tone you predicted he was going to blow a raspberry, but the sound of speeding tires approaching quickly stopped him. Sirens blaring, the police car sped its way forward. 

“Oh fuck.” Hidan sped Jashin backwards again. 

  You remembered the first time you met Jashin.

  It was late that night, you were making your long trek home after a disastrous closing shift. You were tired. So fucking tired. You never would have taken that shortcut if you weren’t truly physically drained. As you made your way briskly through that musky trash infested canal, you were stopped by a man who smelled just as intensely as the alley itself. It was so much so that you had thought that perhaps it was the mans smell that was so potent and not the space itself. 

  Defining what the source of that smell was wasn’t important though, not when he was coming straight at you with barred, yellow teeth. You didn't know what to do and to be fair, what the fuck were you supposed to do? He was yelling something, you couldn't hear it over the thrashing of your erratic heartbeat.  Were you going to die? You were so fucking tired. 

Maybe you should run.

  You didn’t though. Didn’t have the energy. So you let the man come face to face with your figure, grabbing at the lapels of your coat and screaming. His breath was unbearable and you thought you were going to pass away just from the smell as opposed to actually being murdered. Although you suppose this could probably qualify for a murder, his breath was most definitely a weapon. But despite his shouts being directly at you, his humid breath spraying across your face as his chest constantly heaved, you couldn't understand what he was saying. 

“Jashin! Jashin is coming!” 

  What the fuck was Jashin? Could you still not hear him? He was probably sick. You were tired. So you continued to let him shake your form. Was he going to kill you or just ask for some money?

  Thats when a beast of sleek red metal swerved down the alley, trampling over peeled open garbage bags and beer bottles, approaching you with each sound of a crinkled can. It was gunning straight towards the man who was backing you up against the wall, he was frothing and screaming at the sight and the next moment the hood of the car slammed into his form. Despite your close proximity to the man, you were left barely unscathed and a little bit disappointed.  

  The scene laid frozen for a good thirty seconds: the man unconscious on the floor, your unsteady breathing and the window of the car rolling down. It inched back to reveal a man about your age - which made him just barely a man - with silver slicked back hair, barred teeth and knitted eyebrows. 

“Shit.” 

  You just stared at him, backpack beginning to slide down your shoulders. He stared back at you, waiting to see what your next move was going to be. You didn’t have one. 

  “...If it makes you feel any better, douchebag deserved it.” The man said a few minutes later, he clearly wasn't expecting the crumpled body on the floor to have tried to seek out help, let alone from a cute girl. He smoothed his hair back. 

   His crappy attempt to seduce you didn't work and nor did his equally crap words of consolation, you were tired. This whole situation was even more tiring. You just wanted to sleep. 

  “I won't tell anyone, if you just drive me home.”

  He clearly wasn't expecting that, you could tell that from the pained look intensifying on his face and his little choked gasp. A few moments later it released like an elastic band snapping and his features set into a smug smirk. A cute girl who wasn’t gonna snitch on him?

  “You’re not going to question the fact that I just hit someone with my car? Is it cause I'm so fucking sex-” 

  You weren’t listening, walking over the heap of a body and around the car into the passenger seat. The contrasting smell of vanilla and cigarettes clouded your senses as you clicked your seatbelt into place - noticing his lack of one in the process.

You hated that your face was burning up as you spoke. “I live a few blocks away.” 

For a while you were sure that this was the first girl Hidan had ever had in his car. It was obvious that he was freaking out, maybe if he didn’t hit people in alleyways and then blamed your silence on the fact that he was so fucking sexy, then maybe he would be able to talk to more.

  He tried to blab to you the whole way to your apartment accidentally making wrong turns to try and extend the length of your stay. He told you about that man in the alley, said something about how he totally fucked him over in some black market shit for auto parts. Said his enemy, - he stressed this word very intensely - Shikamaru probably put him up to it. Nobody messes with Jashin goddamit, I fucking hate that guy. It was a shit justification for murder no doubt, there is never a good reason to hit someone with a car, but you supposed your indifference wasn't any better. 

  You stole a couple glances at him every now and then, when his eyes took a break from darting back and fourth between your thighs, your face and the road. He had a sharp jaw, pretty cheekbones, gelled back hair with small strands escaping every so often - causing him to brush them back when too many tickled his forehead - his lashes were long and his eyes so pretty so in the dim light of the empty city streets. His teeth were straight and sharp canines peeked out whenever he sent you a suggestive smirk.

You also spent an unbelievably long time watching his fingers maneuver the steering wheel, the way his hands flexed with a certain turn. The veins of his forearms travelling underneath his leather jacket pushed up at the elbows, his jeans were all worn out and faded and his shoes looked like they were about to fall apart, it was a big difference in comparison to the well kept state of his handsome car.

  When he finally made it to your complex after running out of roads to take wrong turns down, he looked at you like a lost puppy, rolling the passenger window down to call out to you as you opened the lobby doors. “So I’ll meet you out here tomorrow then? Say, around 9?” 

  You turned to look at him confusedly, inquiring as to why he would be picking you up when you made no reservations to see him again, why would you want to see your accomplice in a murder ever again? But he was already speeding off before you got the chance. 

At least you could finally go to sleep.

The next day he was outside your apartment fifteen past nine, blaring his horn as he maneuvered his upper body to hover out the window of his lovely Jashin. You were nestled on your couch, staring at the blue light of the TV screen in your dark apartment desperately trying to avoid the textbook glowering at you from the coffee table.

‘Cute kitten saved from tree’ was sprawled across the bottom of your television in bold letters as a perky blonde read off the little cue cards in her hand. You’d been watching the news all day, waiting for the red breaking news! To slice across the screen and read out the description of a crippled homeless gambler found dead in an alley, but it never came.

It mad you feel a little angry when you realized his death wasn’t going to be announced and you knew there was no way it hadn’t been discovered yet. Then you sat startled at the realization that you didn’t feel anything towards what happened. That the anger you felt in wanting it to be so desperately displayed on the news was because you hoped you would feel something then.

The sound of Hidans car horn threw you out of your thoughts as you jumped like a frightened cat to the window. Peeling back the curtain you were surprised to see that blood stained blotch on the road with a lavender haired boy peeking out, baring his teeth.

You contemplated staying inside, he didn’t know your apartment number, but you knew that he definitely wouldn’t stop blaring the horn if you didn’t. His hand was undeniably laying flat against the centre of he wheel as he continued to sound out, you heard someone yell for him to fucking shut up. Hidan continued as if he didn’t hear. It kind of flattered you.

You wanted to vomit.

You took the stairs.

It was the beginning of winter when you finally let Hidan fuck you. You were in some parking lot lined with pitch black shops on a Sunday night. Everyone closed early going home to their families, except the two of you of course.

It was odd being with him for this long. One outing turned into another and then another, before you knew it he was picking you up every night at nine -sometimes fifteen minutes passed,- blaring his horn excitedly as he peeked out his car.

He told you it was the perfect place to do donuts, didn’t you want to do donuts? You did. It was the beginning of winter. It was icy. His idea was incredibly fucking stupid. But you agreed because maybe you’d skid on the ice and smash into a store, get crushed by the crumbling debris..

There was little snowflakes hitting the windows of Jashin as you two sat parked in the middle of the deserted lot.

“You ready? Oh you’re gonna love this, babe.”

He grinned as your face heated up at the name, you always got all flustered whenever he said anything like that. It made him feel giddy. His long fingers start Jashin up, moving to clutch the wheel as the car thrums to life.

When he makes the first swerve with his car, he turns his head to watch your body all stiff and frightened. It was funny. He laughed as your face twisted into an even more flustered one - if that was possible. God, you were always such a hard ass at the beginning of the night, but when he dropped you off outside your apartment early into the morning he always made sure to leave you with a little smile on your face. Even now, this early into the night he could see the beginnings of one.

He twisted the wheel again and your body flew to the left, smooshing into the console and the surprised laugh that left your mouth had his guts twisting. He wanted to hear it again. Your walls always fell when he did stupid shit like this. You were kinda fucked up now that he thought about it. Always getting all giggly when you should probably be screaming at him to be more careful for fucks sake! But you never did and he loved that about you. Just as fucked as he was.

“Hey babe, babe! This one’ll be good. Watch, watch.” He gripped the wheel again and grinded his sneaker into the gas, the first skid across asphalt was intentional, but when he tried to regain the reigns of his dark red beast it began to thrash out of his control.

Goddamn ice patch.

The car twisted, screeched and burned into the pavement for a good twenty seconds and when he was sure you should be screaming because I mean come on, that was fucking scary, he heard silence.

As the car came to a complete stop and your body was once again flung against the console, he turned to you. He thinks he was gonna ask if you were okay but he couldn’t remember because the next moment you were grabbing tufts of his gelled hair and sucking his face off.

He loved every second of it. The amount of times he’d tried to get his dick wet with you before was astronomical, but you’d always tell him no and he would pout like a dog. But hey, now you’re shoving your tongue down his throat like a dog so he settled on the idea that good things do come to people who wait.

The reason you decided to do it then was blurry. One moment his car was skidding around the parking lot and you were laughing and thinking of the chance of death and the next second it spat onto your tongue and you realized you didn’t want it anymore.

Like that first time you slid into his car, as you kissed him now you tasted contrasting flavours. Mint and cigarettes. For a moment you thought you were going to pull away, but you felt the sudden need to drink all of it. To somehow understand why you felt like you were burning from the inside.

It was his fault really. Hidan made you feel less tired, if that was a good way to put it. You started looking forward to things after you two met and eventually you actually started to feel a bit more deeply for poor crumpled man in the alley. It felt as if you’re body was being thawed out by this silver haired idiot who was groping for the clasp of your bra underneath your shirt.

So you climbed over the console, fumbling with the side of his chair to pull his seat back as you began to strip off your top in haste. You unbuttoned his jeans and slid down to the space between his leg, choking and drooling all over his cock because when you did you felt all these funny emotions bubbling in your body, you felt alive.

He was a loud mouth when you had his dick down your throat, groaning and saying the dumbest, lewdest shit his sex wired brain could think of. You know how many times he’s thought of this? You feel so good, you feel so good. God this is so good, Jashin probably loves it too... We should fuck on the hood of the car next. Long slender fingers guided your head up and down him as he began to twitch thrust his hips upwards, finally spill into your mouth. Douchebag didn’t let your head go and you felt some of his juices dribble down your tongue.

“Swallow it, swallow it while my dicks still in your mouth... Atta girl, you’re so good. So greedy..”

And you swallowed it all, he hoisted you back onto his lap and pushed your skirt up. He was whispering all this perverted stuff in your ear and your mouth fell open against his neck. Words making you flush fiercely and slowly grind your hips against him. You stopped him when he was beginning to shove your panties down your thighs, though.

For the first time you felt small in comparison to him as you met his eyes. He stopped his movement seeming like he was going to say something too, but you cut him off.

“- Hidan... I’ve never done it before.”

He stares at you all wide eyed before laughing and for a second and you think about getting out of his car and walking home because that’s such a douchebag thing to do, but then he surprises you.

“Me too, I was just about to say.. but I mean it can’t be hard right? Well, I am hard,” he laughed and you found yourself huffing a small giggle at his stupid joke, good mood returning as he continued, “I was just gonna go with what I seen in hentais.” That explained his dirty talk.

It was pretty good for your first time though. Ideally not the best place to have sex, you kept hitting your head and he couldn’t quite get his hips thrusting at a good pace with the confined space, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care because it was Hidan and you think you just might be in love with him.

That’s why you don’t say anything when a few weeks later you see “Shikamaru Nara, infamous street racer found dead in a back alley crash.” flashing across your tv screen.

You don’t comment, just give a little understanding hum when Hidan calls you and tells you he can’t pick you up tonight babe, or for a few nights, Jashin needs some repairs..

It’s why now, as he speeds through the streets recklessly with your bags in the trunk and the sound of sirens ringing in your ears that you feel tears prick your eyes. You wish you could have told him to be more careful, that he shouldn’t have done what he did without planning it. Something, anything.. it’s too late now. But he’s not to blame.

You think it’s your fault, really.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “To Deep Space.”

I am finished with university, had my last final yesterday, so we will be moving back to the normal writing schedule, yay! 

I have no idea where this arc is going tbh, but it is going to be good and I am excited. I hope you guys will enjoy it as well! 

“Dr. Adric, Dr. Adric please report to the bridge.”

He stepped from his office wondering what they could possibly need him for there. He had just been trying to get his office situated when the call came out. He set down his papers on the desk and made his way into the ship looking around as he made his tentative way towards the bridge. The ship was roomier than he thought it might be, but still rather small, he wondered how that affected the people on the ship.

He knew that they had to keep plants aboard the ship for the crew’s mental health, but he honestly wondered how much that help. Overhead he was assured the lights were UV in nature to mimic the sun and stave off depression after long months of being trapped inside a metal tin can hurtling through space. Not one was really sure what the effects of deep space on a person.

They knew that being lost in space could result in mass hysteria as demonstrated by the Commander’s own crew and malfunctioned civilian transport, the likes of which had apparently driven themselves to cannibalism in their panic and confusion.

He had read the reports, it was both disgusting and fascinating.

He paused just inside the bridge turning to stare with wide eyed at the men and women positioned at their consuls arrayed in a semicircular pattern against the outside edge of the room. A second tier comprised another smaller set of consoles for about four people, and just above that was a single raised chair.

The captain’s seat.

The room had been designed with both hierarchy and function in mind in that the captain’s chair could look down on all the other chairs with the ability to see what his crew was doing at all times.

And right now they were prepping for launch.

“Engines.”

“Engine one through six online and reporting no malfunctioning cells Commander.”

“Check them one more time. Crew manifest.”

“Four hundred and eighty six confirmed crewmen, sir.”

“What does the manifest say?”

“The same.”

Dr Adric tilted his head watching as the crew worked, but specifically watching the commander. The man spun this way and that, giving orders, taking information, and all the while making quick check-marks in a little black book he held in one hand. He seemed at east in his chair.

The chief weapons officer, the Drev named Sunny, sat at her station despite not really needing her at the moment, and he could see over her shoulder that she was also doing a weapons check for the ship.

The commander turned in his chair spotting the doctor and motioning him over.

He came confused not sure what he would be needed for.

“Commander?”

The man smiled, an expression that fit well on his face. Despite his youth, the doctor could already see laugh lines, faint and barely visible beginning to form around his eyes…. This was a man used to smiling.

“Take a seat doctor, and strap yourself in. This will be an uncomfortable assent.”

“What do you mean?” He wondered in confusion.

“I generally let all new recruits sit on the bridge for at least one launch or warp. I feel it makes the experience real for them instead of just expecting them to use their imagination. Besides, who doesn’t want to watch a ship launch.”

He was a bit surprised but of course he nodded walking over to the indicated seats and strapping himself in with the five point harness. He continued to watch the crew work. The bridge itself seemed to run rather smoothly under the direction of the commander, and from what he could tell the crew seemed very excited to be off.

“Engines ready, commander.”

“Fuel cells engaged.”

Commander Vir reached for his microphone broadcasting his voice throughout the ship, “Alright you beautiful hooligans launch begins in T minus one minute. Please strap yourself and any loose items down and keep your hands and feet inside the ship for the duration of the ride.” He cut off his mic smiling.

Dr Adric watched closely.

“Ground control this is Harbinger preparing to liftoff in T minus 55, do you copy.”

“Copy harbinger. Launch is ready for go standby on grid line trajectory Alpha two niner one one preparing for liftoff over.”

“Thirty seconds.”

He gripped the seatbelt hard teeth gritted watching as the rest of the crew braced themselves as well. The commander flexed his hands sliding his fingers into the flight gloves and hooking his toes onto the pedals. The holographic shield popped up to cover his eyes.

“launch in 10, 9 ,8, 7, 6, 5.”

He gripped tighter.

“4, 3, 2, 1, “

“Launch.”

The force of the rising ship slammed him back into his seat as they were born skyward. All around them the ship seemed to vibrate and rattle. His chest felt like it had a carton of bricks stacked on top of it and a little black circle was beginning to encroach at the edges of his vision.

Somewhere, someone in the room was cheering. Past his vibrating eyes, he could see the commander valiantly fighting to bring the ship into the sky despite it’s immense bulk which had never been designed for gravity. Eyes wide he watched as the eggshell blue of a perfect day morphed before them and grew darker until space stretched out before them like a pair of waiting arms.

“Prepare core for warp. Navigations.”

“Yes commander?”

“Warp Coarse.”

“Sagittarius A. But not to close! Keep to the coordinates the smart guys gave us” he repeated very suddenly looking very nervous all things told.

“What’s in Sagittarius A?” He wondered

The commander turned in his chair one eyebrow raised looking almost incredulous, “you don’t know?”

The rest of the crew shifted very nervously, he could see it on them though there were hints of excitement.”

He shook his head.

“Our primary directive on this ship is deep space exploration. We are a military vessel, but we hold trillions of dollars in scientific equipment aboard this ship, as such we have been tasked by the UNSC in accordance with the NASA foundation to head to Sagittarius A and take the first close space images of the supermassive black hole at the center of the milky way.”

He felt his hands and feet go suddenly cold.

“B but how can you take a picture of something that sucks in light.”

“The accretion disk of course and then the massive black spot at the middle.”

“But if we get to close….”

“Yes yes doctor, I have been flying in space long enough to know what happens if you run amuck of a black hole. We get sucked in and suspended forever in a slow spiral of doom as time slows down and our bodies are slowly ripped apart atom by atom. Please we aren’t getting THAT close. Even I’m pissing myself just thinking about it, but also super excited to be honest. No mess ups this time which is why the ship has been checked to hell and back to make sure it’s working.”

Not for the first time, he was beginning to wonder if he was psychologically stable enough to be on this mission as it seemed you hat to be just a little crazy to want to do this. Maybe that is why a high percentage of people on the ship had presented with psychological anomalies, least of all the commander himself.

How he hadn’t gone mad with fear regarding the eminent death that surrounded them constantly was a mystery.

“Warp core?”

“Ready for ignition sir.”

“How far out are we.”

“Almost to the warp zone sir,”

Dr Adric rubbed his temples. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see a black hole. What kind of psychological effects does something that powerful have on someone, knowing that if you are caught in its gravity well you are done for in the most horrible way possible, and just looking at it from a distance he imagined would be like watching a bear or tiger out in the wild accept for this was different since the bear could now swallow stares whole and the tiger ad gravity so immense that not even light can escape it’s center.

“Preparing for warp in ten.”

He closed his eyes

But they didn’t stay closed as the countdown continued opening for a moment as he felt the space around him go strange. When he did he nearly lost it as his vision seemed to be looking through a glass fish bowl all warped out to the sides and stretched, far things looking close, close things looking far. Outside the window a massive spot appeared before him and around it the stars were morphing and repeating.

The ship reflected back a thousand times in fractal images.

He yelled in shock clenching his seat, and then, it was over.

He was breathing hard, outside there was nothing but blackness, and the emergency lights had flicked on over the crew.

The captain unbuckled his seat-belt and stepped down onto the floor.

He turned to look at Adric who was gripping the seat so hard his knuckles had gone white, “Nice work, first time I warped I definitely pissed myself so, good constitution.” He patted Adric on the shoulder. The blue Drev stood, and the commander grabbed her by the shoulder hauling himself up onto her back.

Adric watched as the two of them walked away.

How strange.

He was in for seeing a lot of strange things in the next few days. The commander and the blue drev spent a lot of time together, and often he rode on her back. At one point he walked in on the crew having a jousting contest where two drev ran full tilt at the other while the two crewmen brandished brooms.

He walked out of his room more than once to find the commander heelieing down the hall at the head of the bridge crew giving orders.

When that wasn’t happening he had run amuck of a freaky group of spider creatures being taken care of by a dog and a very strange humanoid creature who claimed he could read minds. He hadn’t believed it until it started repeating his inner thoughts back to himself.

Instead of being freaked out he found himself almost envious. If he had that kind of power imagine the sort of things he could do to help his patients.

Everywhere he went it seemed as if something strange was happening.

One day they were playing an aggressive game of keep the balloon off the floor and the next they were using window markers to drawn on the viewing field. As expected from a group of soldiers it turned into a heard of inappropriate doodles until it looked as if their ship was cruising past a heard of winged space dicks.

And he himself kept a close eye on the crew. None of them seemed bothered by the fact they were in deep space, but many of them had strange habits.

The commander and the Drev named Sunny spent an excessive amount of time together, or so he thought, the little doctor never relaxed, and couldn’t to save his life even when he tried. Conn, the mind reader, did his best to get attention by pissing everyone off, and the spiderlings, as he had come to know them, were constantly acting up as well.

He would need more time to get used to the crew, but it seemed as if he had his work cut out for him.

If he could hold himself together that is.

[bloodybells1]

ON SCORDATURA

When I was eighteen, I was really into heavy metal and had been practicing the electric guitar for four years. I was devoted to music theory and looked up to guitarists like Steve Vai. I played loudly and fast, emulating the popular style of playing when heavy metal was at its apex of popularity. You might say that I was a “shredder.” 

My passion for technique took an unexpected turn, however, when I became fascinated by the classical guitar. I don’t exactly remember when it hit me, the inspiration to explore this type of playing. It might’ve been born from reading the name of Andres Segovia in the magazine interviews of my favorite guitarists. (Also, I listened to a lot of Jethro Tull, and the intro to one of his songs is a quotation of a popular classical guitar score by Bach, the “Bourée in E Minor.” I started teaching it to myself by ear, but soon realized I needed help adjusting to the new technique). 

One day I made the decision that I wanted to take the plunge into the classical world. I purchased a cheap nylon string, looked for a tutor and, once I found one in Chapel Hill, NJ, I started taking lessons and practicing every day.

I was enthralled by the new possibilities in this style of playing. I was discovering a wealth of textures and styles I’d had no previous idea about. My parents had not listened to classical music, so all of this was foreign to me. But I fell in love with the genre all the same.

I loved how old this practice was, how its provenance dated back to before there was electricity. I loved the deceptive simplicity of paper scores, how the mere act of sight-reading might open up varied worlds of expression, limited only by the player’s willingness to learn the technique and the player’s ability to perform.

My tutor included Renaissance lute scores in his homework for me. These scores contained instructions for alternative tuning arrangements of the strings. This changes the whole grid of the fretboard. Each string has been tightened or loosened to different notes, so all the note relationships are changed. If you wanted to play the same material you would have to relearn it with new fingerings. 

But that wasn’t the point. The scordatura was designed to make available new sonorities. These lute pieces dating back to the Renaissance had a “harpier” texture, with open notes ringing out in different keys and mixtures of notes in registers I didn’t often hear in guitar music with traditional tuning. It was rather exotic, like the simple act of turning a screw on a taut string had turned this plain old Spanish guitar into some new, esoteric instrument.

My experience with classical guitar, and specifically the scordatura my tutor taught me, was a factor later in life when I played bass guitar professionally in the mid 2000’s. Not only do I think that it made me flexible enough to feel confident learning to play another stringed instrument, but it also influenced my tuning. I utilized what’s called Drop D tuning, a simple type of scordatura that lowers the heaviest string by two notes. It gives you two extra lower notes you wouldn’t normally have with the standard tuning—where the lowest note is E. 

Heavy metal guitarists love this tuning because of how much heavier it makes the music sound and because it ends up making power chord configurations a one-finger job instead of two, and you can play those heavy power chord riffs much more quickly with just one finger. 

Drop D was useful to me, however, because of how it enabled me to interact with the songwriting. My band’s music was dark and a lot of the songs were in D minor. So having a lower D available permitted me to create pedal tones and deeper support functions for chords and textures that were already using that scale a lot. It added depth and character to the music because of this sort of flexible shadow figure moving around underneath the guitars and the keyboards.

I had a profound experience with scordatura later in 2014, while I was in acting school. One of our school productions was a kind of fantasia on Nabokov’s Pale Fire. The novel is already a bit of a fantasia itself, so the production was very post-modern. 

The director, Alex Harvey, staged it brilliantly. One of his ideas was that my character would play passages on the piano between scenes. The score was from a series called Revelation by composer Michael Harrison. 

Harrison had contrived a bespoke scordatura for the score. An assistant, a specialist who could interpret unconventional concert pieces like these, was hired to transform the school’s simple upright Yamaha, an instrument more often used as accompaniment for students singing from the American Songbook, into a piece of avant-garde machinery. 

I had already begun learning some of the passages before the piano had been prepared. They sounded ok, but not extraordinary. Once the tuner was finished and the specific tuning had been accomplished, however, I began learning the pieces in earnest and it was, well, it was a revelation. 

Harrison’s scordatura was wild. Some keys adjacent to each other were tuned only fractionally sharper than their predecessor on the keyboard, thereby creating a tonal cloud or wash between the two that sounded a little like an untuned guitar, but in a shimmery, beautiful way. Other keys were tuned a whole fifth from their predecessor, thereby jumping up very far between two adjacent keys. The two extremities canceled each other out to create a distinct sense of balance and harmony, a kind of timbral mist floating in the ether. 

As I worked on the score I had a sense that I didn’t know what was happening. It was difficult for me to anticipate and conceptualize the piano with this exotic construction. Yet, reading through the score and performing it, the idea was actualized. A whole new musical sensibility was borne out of this tuning. It was thrilling to put into action such a strange and beautiful arrangement.

What would a trumpet sound like if one could alternate its tuning? It’s a ridiculous notion: it would require bending metal, destroying the instrument in the process. Scordatura is likewise impossible for woodwinds. Ditto, percussion. A timpani, the most obvious exception, is in fact quite flexible and can even be tuned during performance. The percussionist puts their ear to the skin and lightly taps so as to enable them to change the tuning without disturbing the performance of other orchestra members. But you can’t do that with, say, tubular bells.

Stringed instruments and the piano are different than all the other instruments. The oscillators, the strings themselves, are adjustable. Coupled with the fact of their polyphony, it’s plain why these instruments, especially the piano, are so popular. They are great adapters. They can be brought back to their mean and reset for future use in other circumstances. The ubiquity of these instruments, across genres, in barrooms and conservatories alike, is explained by their ability to avail themselves. 

And what about the voice? How supple are the cords? Can they be stretched or loosened like the strings of a guitar? Is there a scordatura possible for the human vocal mechanism?

It’s debatable: vocal training, primarily through work in breathing, does fortify ones range by bolstering the lower and upper parts of the register with more support. But your vocal cords are your vocal cords. Even on a guitar, you can’t detune the strings too much. It affects the timbre: the fretboard is designed with a natural state of tension and that string that is being detuned is only thick enough to perform in a certain range before the slackening of the string makes it flap against the fretboard—or before the tightening warps the fretboard. 

Vocal cords are similar in this way. Just like with a guitar, once you start “detuning” your voice, you invite corruption of the sound. Your voice cracks when you try to go too low. 

When Olivier tackled Othello he tried to lower his voice through vocal training. Obviously, considering all of the other garish and offensive effects—the blackface, the funny walk, the stupid dialect—he should’ve known better than to engage in minstrelsy, but he also should’ve known about the corruption of his voice. Not all instruments have that level of flexibility. 

He should’ve known that not everything is available. 

What about the human being itself? Can it be construed as an instrument? one that might likewise permit a certain scordatura? 

My feeling is that in this case the change is permanent. And, like with a trumpet, one risks destruction. The human being is not a stringed instrument. 

I can attest to a certain kind of “permanent” scordatura of the body and mind. It was possible for me to “detune” myself, but it was a commitment to a new state. I won’t ever be able to “go back” to my original tuning. It involved deep structural shifts and I came close to collapse—and in fact did collapse—many times. The instrument—the body and the mind—was constantly at risk of crumbling and warping under the stress of the transformation. Slackening a string is one thing. Shortening or elongating a valve is another. 

What is therapy but a type of spiritual scordatura? The patient comes in with a limitation in place and leaves with that “bar” set somewhere else. Thresholds are repositioned. Pain that was once unbearable can be stomached. New life experiences are   permitted because the mind has been opened to their possibilities. It is a fact that the change is permanent, but after we recognize the evolution we would never want to “detune” back to where we were. 

I have a long history with therapy and it is without question the source of all of the appetite for change that I’ve experienced. In teaching me about healing, it motivated me to seek out other forms of healing. I credit it with helping me gain acceptance to the prestigious MFA program in Acting which I entered in 2012 at NYU, the beginning of three years wherein this process of permanent scordatura would be hastened. 

I had many illnesses. Some would find treatment through the program’s vast assortment of exercise techniques addressing body misalignment and spiritual imbalance. Yoga classes, Feldenkrais, Alexander technique, chakra work, these were all deployed to “tune” the bodies in class. 

Voice and speech exercises as well helped bring awareness of lifelong limits, expressed through the mouth and in the breath. It was unnerving to encounter these intimate facts about how one walks, how one talks, how one moves, how one breathes. 

Most people would never submit themselves to this level of scrutiny. A fellow alumnus with additional experience in the military often jokes that an MFA at NYU Grad Acting is actually more oppressive than boot camp because at least in boot camp you let your anger and hostility grant you relief—you can growl and yawp and hunch over and adapt to battlefields—whereas actors, despite undergoing similar rounds of abuse, must look smooth and collected and relaxed in order to perform well on stage. It really was a double whammy of having my being constantly interrogated in various invasive manners, all while being denied any permission to sublimate the tension.  

I had my own motivations to undergo this training. I was desperate to have a classical training in the theatre. But I was also subconsciously motivated towards healing. Despite the horrors of these ordeals, the modalities that are therewith deployed are part of a healing experience that, having undergone them, I wouldn’t trade for anything. Had I known what I was getting myself into beforehand, I don’t know that I would’ve jumped in the pool. But I’m glad I didn’t know because I cherish the experience.

I had a problem with keeping my mouth only partially open which our singing teacher was constantly bringing my attention towards. She had taught me that this was a defense mechanism, a strategy of containment, a means of keeping the world from having access to my heart. (Of course, keeping your mouth closed is also a problem for sound projection on stage, but that’s more technical). 

During one afternoon class, singing “Lonely Room” from Oklahoma, I broke down into tears as the teacher kept coaxing me to open my mouth more and more. There I was, a man pushing 40, with tears streaming down his eyes, opening his mouth wide, not even singing the words, just the vowels, but doing something that was so psychically threatening, something that I could never bring myself to do, something simple, like opening a mouth. The limit had been expanded.

There was an element of bodily restructuring to all of this as well. I had done a number on my body during those years of my professional musicianship, when I toured the world in a famous band. And so by this point, I was aware that a shift was needed from the effects of years spent in front of cameras and abusing drugs and traveling and losing sleep. Alice Miller’s book, The Body Keeps the Score, is instructive in this regard. Somatization of traumas explain a great deal of certain physical ailments. In my case, they played out structurally, on my bones and on my muscles and in my central nervous system. 

These changes are subtle to the layperson. But they are profound for the student. When I look at how I held my body in old photos, it is obvious to me that there was something wrong. On the stage, with a heavy instrument hanging from my shoulder, it wasn’t perceptible. The lights and the postures have a way of masking the truth. But in the more candid and private shots—the Polaroids and the exposures from my disposable camera which my friends and I took in our apartments—I see evidence of a lot of tension. Shoulders crept upwards towards my ears; chest muscles held; an exploded solar plexus; a chin pointing up. It was a mixture of a lot of holding, a lot of somatization in the fibers, with a learned posture organized to communicate the persona I wanted everyone to see: a demiurge or rockstar. 

I came into grad school as though off an assembly line, where the factory had riveted and hammered onto my body and psyche its lessons. It was a capitalistic factory but it was also a societal one, one that bore the hallmarks of the dogged problems which elude solution: childhood trauma, dog-eat-dog meritocracy, bullying, etc. 

So now I was this product getting recalled, but I was going to another factory for refurbishment. One that also had rivets and hammers, but ones which were designed to break open the right parts.

I stretched and stretched. By the end of the three years I was essentially exiting with a new body. The myth about the seven year cellular regeneration in one’s body is instructive here. For it truly was the case that new grooves in my brain and muscular and skeletal patterns had taken hold. One of my teachers said during my final evaluation that I had come in to school looking like a clothes hangar with legs but that I now looked graceful. 

Even my scoliosis—a condition I was born with and which I will contend with for the rest of my life—was discovered in acting school. I had had no idea about it before one of the teachers told me that I persisted in leaning downwards to my right. My spine curves in the shape of a sidewards C. It’s a genetic condition. Of course, hanging a ten-pound instrument off my shoulder and letting the weight pull me down to the ground so that I could look cool every night didn’t really help either.

The modalities in the movement and vocal training classes in acting school are designed to build awareness and flexibility in the body and the mind. The purpose of this is to permit the actor to be resilient enough on stage so as to be present and believable. So it has a practical purpose and a real-world application. 

I had other problems which these modalities could not fix, but which their steady application, encouraging honesty and reflection, revealed. There were addictions and mental illness issues which I’d had no idea about before entering grad school but which were inflamed by the pressure inside. I then had to deal with them. Immediately, since they threatened the goal of getting my MFA. 

The cocaine abuse of my years in the music industry haunted me in the form of paralyzing panic attacks and circadian disruptions which complicated my ability to perform in school. The years spent pursuing rampant and anonymous sexual congress created inappropriate obsessiveness with orgasms and romance. Naturally, given that my peers were all considerably younger than I was, this last part wasn’t all that abnormal. But it interfered nonetheless. I was no spring chicken but I was acting like one. I had to double down on sex addiction meetings and on therapy.

It all came to a head inside the cloistered walls of the conservatory. It came to a head when Alex Harvey, the director of the Nabokov rendition, had to massage my shoulders backstage as I collapsed in tears during one of many nervous breakdowns. It came to a head when in a movement class, during an unfamiliar physical exploration, an early painful memory of abandonment that had long been forgotten had been recalled and sent me to the floor sobbing. 

I’m grateful that I had the means to address the issues. I had to juggle that with the demands of the curriculum. It was not easy. But I’m proud of my accomplishment and I’m proud of the new person this all made me become.

It is possible to “detune.” I think a better way of looking at it is “retuning.” It is a permanent scordatura and it therefore should not be taken lightly.

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (4)

Chapter 4: Target Acquired | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 | Previous: Part 3 | Next: Part 5 | Masterlist

4 of ?

Jidné has finally flew out of Ordo Eris’s orbit, back into the deep black vacuum of space she goes. She was still within the same system as the Haxion Brood’s outpost, although she was closer to the planets neighboring one another. While the Scarab cruises leisurely in space, she tried to tweak the satellite’s range in the hopes that she would pick up the said S-161’s signal—it wasn’t impossible, though it’s very unlikely to get good results out of it.

“It’ll take a miracle for us to find them, ID,”

ID-3 trilled in agreement, although despondently.

She leaned against the pilot’s seat, tapping her fingers in a beat on the cushioned armrests, she tilted her head back. The bounty hunter was running out of ideas, the first suggestion she gave herself was to scour the surrounding planets around Ordo Eris.

Ironically, she looked for answers from within herself.

“Now, if I was a Jedi on the run…” she muttered to herself—a short-lived smirk played along her lips to acknowledge the irony—absentmindedly stroking the dashboard screen as she thought of the possibilities. Her eyes shifted around the cockpit, as if searching for the next words.

“Someplace not densely populated—but that would make one easy to find, less people but more natural camouflage. Densely populated—it’ll be too… people-y outside, but makes you lost in the crowd, hard to spot with a lot of people all around you, but would make a scene if you do get caught.”

She drew her leg up and rung her around her shin. She bowed her head and rubbed her chin, pondering hard on similar theories and assumptions that are likely realistic. It appeared like she’s meditating in her own way.

The hours dragged on as Jidné squeezed her brain for more realistic ideas while the Scarab floated past the planets. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, thinking of more ways to get by—until one came to mind and it was actually the last thing she wanted to do, so she set it aside for the moment.

“Haxion’s out to get Redhead, too,” she recalled the fact that the Brood had their hunters scattered across the planets in search of Cal, even prior to Vader hiring her.

Giving up, she decided if gathering more intel was the best first step in this plan—just so she can piece together what her sources tell her, starting from what Sorc has told her so far, she listed all of the planets where she could get better intel on the top of her mind.

Minutes later after brainstorming by herself, her dexterous fingers danced across the dashboard buttons until a map reflected on the black screen, presenting the holograms of the surrounding planets within her current location.

“Too near Ordo Eris, they wouldn’t want to get close,” presumed Jidné, peering over a green planet with three moons on the hologram; she then turned her attention back to the computer, entering another system’s coordinates. “This one? Not too near, not too far either.”

Her scanning of the current map was cut short when the secondary monitor on her dashboard blinked a huge red circle in the radar. The droid croaked a high-pitched chitter—in droidspeak, it’d be a panicked screech—alarmed by the sudden appearance of big red blip. Quickly, she paid attention to that blip, as it may be a hostile—as she always does. She brought her leg back down, returned her grip on the steering wheel and buckled up in her seat.

“ID, see if you can amplify the scanners and satellites, I wanna take a good look at that ship,” Jidné clearly and sternly commanded, but she wasn’t in full panic mode yet unlike her little, hovering friend.

ID-3 obliged, regardless; from one of his metal pincers, a data port plug connected with the dashboard, he relayed the information from his databank to the screen where Jidné can see. The former Imperial droid gave a full view of the ship, its model and serial name. The pilot’s eyes widened as she read the jumble of characters that is its model name.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned.” She expressed in full disbelief rather than enthusiasm.

It was the Mantis!

She cranked the gears of the Scarab and tailed the target. Her fingers tensed around the wheel.

“ID, get ready to mask the Scarab’s signature when we get in closer range,”

“Trill!”

Apparently, ID didn’t need to do much work in scrambling the Scarab’s signal. The sudden turbulence that she and her droid were experiencing were due to the incoming meteor shower that the two ships are bringing themselves in are doing that for them.

“That is one crazy pilot,” Jidné quipped after witnessing the Mantis zip through the barrage of nearly-molten rocks shooting in their direction like cannon fire.

The Mantis and Scarab were complete contrasts to one another in terms of shape and size. The Mantis was narrow and thin like a needle, while the Scarab was curvy and wide—but when maneuvered vertically, it can pass through the gap of a trench. In this case, both ships were doing their own evasive maneuvers to survive the hailstorm of rocks.

A few smaller rocks have scraped and dented the exterior of the Scarab, but the gravitational pull of the phenomenon caused the ship to rumble so much that it’s starting to make Jidné nauseous. All of the debris that passed by scorched the exterior of the freighter, leaving loud bangs against the metal as they fleeted away.

“This certainly isn’t how I planned my day to go!”

She swept through the meteors and gained on the Mantis, with the Scarab masked—amplified by the shower interfering with the clarity of signals—the other ship didn’t exactly put all of their attention to her, but she sensed that they got the hint. She pushed the pedal to the metal in order to get at least neck-and-neck with her target, she flicked the clear glass cover of a red switch atop the shaft of her steering wheel.

Due to the rocks that literally scrape by the sides of the Scarab, constantly making the vessel quake, Jidné’s thumbs always strayed away from the button.

“I’ll never get a clean shot at them!”

Her eyesight narrowed, she sets the targeting device dead-set on the Mantis. The grid swerved as it followed the Mantis real-time, Jidné glanced at the targeting monitor every once in a while as she tries to accelerate to a greater speed.

“Almost there,” she rasped.

Her thumb hovered over the red button, impatient and eager to punch it, Jidné insisted to close a few more miles between the Scarab and the Mantis before she could fire the shots.

“There!”

A single shot darted out of the barrel—the bullet was a homing beacon not bigger than a land mine—and adhered to the exterior of the Mantis.

Good, they’ll never seen me coming. She thought triumphantly.

She flicked back the glass cover down and pressed a series of buttons on her dashboard. A small circular screen on the dashboard glowed blue in the corner of Jidné’s eye.

“We got them on our trail, ID!” she celebrated, smirking as she slowed down, withdrew from the dogfight and watched the Mantis weakly swerve as it tried to hold itself together while trying to get through the meteor shower.

Meanwhile, Jidné also tried to find her way out of this infernal shower of rocks. As much as she wanted to keep an eye on her target, she had to put her faith on the homing beacon—hoping that it doesn’t get cooked if they ever crash land into that beige planet.

She pulled the ship up, gaining altitude and placing her freighter above the meteor shower’s path. She detours from the planet floating right in front of her and ID-3 to give the Scarab a rest. The bounty hunter peered at the monitors again, but mostly focusing on the screen that shows the diagnostics of the ship’s internals.

“Integrity at 85%, I think we can stabilize that when we land,”

“Be-beep, chitter?”

“ID, see if you can analyze that planet they’re crash-landing into. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this before,”

The ID seeker droid happily obliged this time, linking the arm with a built-in data port connector. Fishing from his databanks, he relayed the information to Jidné’s screen.

“Thanks, ID—knew I could count on you always!” she beamed, and then read the data that ID encoded on the monitor. “Ombari, huh? Well, I hope Redhead wished upon a star that I wouldn’t find him when we get there.”

“Chitter, trill!”

“Yeah, I’d say it’s worth a shot too,” Jidné snickered.

She set the acceleration to a high, passing Ombari’s asteroid-ridden ring and finally prepared herself to cut through the atmosphere before she could lose sight of her redheaded target.

Ombari was a tropical landmass. On one side, deltas and rivers sustained the lush jungles until the water stretched thin and ran dry beyond it, creating the desert badlands where the greenery is sparse but the villainy dense. Jidné was no stranger to such setting—she practically spent her second childhood in a similar environment.

Jidné wanted to keep her profile low as well, so she docked the Scarab in the deeper part of the jungle—she’d be in the border between the rich jungles, civilization, and the badlands. Finding the Mantis in space was easier said than done, however, finding the passenger of the Mantis was basically finding the hay in a needle stack.

“Come on, ID,” she beckoned as she marched through the narrow hall of the freighter, she headed to the compartment where she kept her weapon.

The narrow door hissed open, revealing her customized electropike-rifle hybrid leaning against the door. Jidné took it out of the compartment and studied the matte finish of the handle, some parts already have its paint job chipping due to time and usage; she weighed it on her arms and made a shooting position to get a feel of it again. She slid her hand up to the mandibles at the very end of the weapon, examining the conduits where the electric charge will run.

“Still mint, aren’t ya?” Jidné cooed and then slung the weapon’s strap against her chest.

She patted the holster on her hip one more time, reassuring herself that the saber is still safe and sound inside the leather pouch. By rote, ID hovered close to his owner, folded all of his tentacles and tucked it close to its disc-like body before latching onto the body harness that Jidné wears.

To conceal her droid and save herself the trouble of being accused of stealing Imperial property—which ID-3 obviously isn’t anymore—she donned a light tan cowl that wrapped around her shoulders, covering most of her jacket’s top portion. She asks if ID-3 is ready to go, to which the little dark droid responded with a low-volume chitter, and the duo leave the Scarab in search of their redheaded target.

[thedollarcrate]

50 Best Albums (That I Own on Vinyl) of the Decade

It’s hard to comprehend how much transpires over the course of a decade or wrap your head around how long (or short) of time that really is.

But what better way to try than to make a list!

Now, I know “Best of” lists like this one are inherently subjective – and probably say more about their maker’s preferences than actually reflecting the best music released in a particular time period. And, I’ll be the first to admit that the list below is incredibly limited, and that I need to widen my exposure to more artists and genres.

But hey, this is all in fun.

So feel free to debate, pick apart or share your own favorite albums from the past decade. But before you dive in, just a few quick points for context:

-I only ranked albums I actually own on vinyl released between 2010 and 2019, which limited my choices to about 170 records.

-I only ranked new music released this past decade, so no reissues or older material released for the first time (sorry Prince’s Piano & A Microphone and Originals).

-I first started buying vinyl around ’09-’10 and started off purchasing mostly new releases before my habits shifted and I started looking for older records. This shows in the list below – nearly a quarter of the albums below were released in 2010 and almost 70% from the first half of the decade.

And we’re off…

50. Centipede Hz, Animal Collective (2012)

Let’s be honest, it was impossible for Animal Collective to top a universally acclaimed and era-defining album – and it was unfair to expect them to. But maybe the continuous onslaught of bizarre and eclectic music found on Centipede Hz was just what we needed after all.

49. Singles, Future Islands (2014)

So much more than Sam Herring’s pelvis busting dance moves and “Seasons (Waiting On You),” every track on Singlesbursts with life and heart pumping  energy. To quote Letterman: I’ll take all of that you got.

48. Paul’s Tomb: A Triumph, Frog Eyes (2010)

I don’t think I’ll ever understand Carey Mercer’s lyrics, but I’m certain I’ll never tire of getting lost in his hidden words and knotty melodies.

47. Leaving Atlanta, Gentleman Jesse (2012)

Thirty seven minutes of Pure Power Pop Perfection (note the capital “Ps”).

46. Burst Apart, The Antlers (2011)

If there’s another album with a song titled “Putting the Dog to Sleep” that is as haunting and beautiful as this one, I don’t want to know about it.

45. Carrion Crawler/The Dream, Thee Oh Sees (2011)

With John Dwyer churning out record after record in the ‘10s, it should come as no surprise that at least one landed on this list (and they’re all great). Garage rock. Surf rock. Post-punk rock. Psych rock. Noise rock. Rock rock. I don’t care what you call it, Thee Oh Sees put the pedal to the metal on Carrion Crawler/The Dream, taking you for a wild ride that never lets up.

44. 1989, Taylor Swift (2014)

Irresistibly catchy, everyone needs to satisfy their pop sweet tooth every now and then. 1989 is so sugary, it might just give you a cavity or two.

43. City Music, Kevin Morby (2017)

The city. The countryside. A beach. Aboard a train. At the pearly gates. It doesn’t matter where you listen to City Music because Kevin Morby’s jams will immediately transport you to your own laid back, happy place.

42. Remind Me Tomorrow, Sharon Van Etten (2019)

You’ll regret it if you keep waiting to listen this powerhouse – and powerful – synth-soaked record.

41. You Want It Darker, Leonard Cohen (2016)

It doesn’t get much darker, bleaker or sparse than this, but I wouldn’t want it any other way from the masterful Leonard Cohen.

40. American Dream, LCD Soundsystem (2017)

Retirement never sounded so good.

39. Capacity, Big Thief (2017)

Quietly captivating, mesmerizing and elegant, Big Thief knock you out without you even realizing it.

38. St. Vincent, St. Vincent (2014)

Annie Clark’s shapeshifting album won’t only shred your face off, it somehow makes you feel smarter, too.

37. Before Today, Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti (2010)

So, so weird and so, so good.

36. Expo 86, Wolf Parade (2010)

Like #50, Wolf Parade might always live in the shadow and expectations of a towering classic, yet somehow Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner still continually craft eccentric and bombastic rock albums. Expo 86 is no exception, and it is an underrated classic in its own right.

35. Golden Hour, Kacey Musgraves (2018)

Like a sunset or sunrise, Golden Hour radiates beauty and warmth with each of its glowing tracks.

34. Yuck, Yuck (2011)

Despite their name and its hideous album cover, there’s nothing gross about Yuck’s infectious indie rock.

33. Play It Strange, The Fresh & Onlys (2010)

I once saw The Fresh & Onlys play at a tiny club in D.C. It might’ve been the loudest show I’ve ever been to – my ears rang for days. This record is just as rollicking, hazy and good as that show was loud.

32. Natalie Prass, Natalie Prass (2015)

There’s a reason “Welcome to 1979” is stamped in tiny letters on this vinyl’s inner ring – it’s silky smooth, filled with impeccable soft ballads and finely tuned jams – and just a tinge of funk.

31. I Am Easy To Find, The National (2019)

Few bands matched the consistent output of quality albums in the ‘10s as The National. They had one heck of a run, and I Am Easy To Find was a fascinating way to end it – a 21st rock album that felt more complex and expansive than anything they’d done before.

30. Melodrama, Lorde (2018)

Everything a pop record should be and then some – bold, breathtaking and exuberant.

29. Just Enough Hip To Be Woman, Broncho (2014)

If you can’t tell from its playful title, this pop rock album wants nothing more than to have fun – and it succeeds on every level.

28. Avi Buffalo, Avi Buffalo (2010)

Sometimes all you want is a light, sunny and meandering album to wash over you and get lost in, and this one will do the trick every time.

27. Hippies, Harlem (2010)

Imagine a band practicing inside a garage inside a garage inside another garage and you’ve got Harlem. This is garage rock to the max – and at its rambunctious best.

26. Puberty 2, Mitski (2016)

It’s hard to describe Puberty 2. Sure, it might sound like simple dreamy indie rock, but it ebbs and flows in unexpected ways that leaves you guessing where it’s heading next.

25. mbv, My Bloody Valentine (2013)

Picking up right where they left off – even if it was more than a decade later – My Bloody Valentine reminded everyone why they are the masters of reverb soaked shoegaze.

24. A Moon Shaped Pool, Radiohead (2016)

Even after all these years and albums, Radiohead still found a way to reinvent themselves and push the boundaries of rock music – and our expectations of them. With gorgeous arrangements and slow-burning, tension filled tracks, AMSP proves that even Radiohead can still take risks – and proves rock bands can make quiet, intimate songs sound epic. Oh yeah, and it has “True Love Waits.”

23. Art Angels, Grimes (2015)

Grimes gave us the future of pop music before most could even envision it. This laid the groundwork for all the challenging and intricate – and danceable – pop music that would follow. And it still sounds ahead of its time.

22. Meet Me At The Muster Station, PS I Love You (2010)

The first sounds out of Paul Saulnier’s mouth on Meet Me At The Munster Station aren’t words at all but two short, ecstatic yelps. And this same boundless energy and passion bleeds through on every fuzzy, raucous second of every track. Did I mention there’s a song called “Butterflies & Boners”?

21. More Than Any Other Day, Ought (2014)

You really ought to listen to Ought if you aren’t already. Tim Darcy and co. sound a bit uneasy, paranoid and self-aware, but they make the most minute challenges sound so exhilarating and life-altering – even the struggle deciding between two percent and whole milk at the grocery store.

20. Lemonade, Beyoncé (2017)

All hail Queen Bey.

19. Twin-Hand Movement, Lower Dens (2010)

This album sounds like 2 am on a dark, rainy Saturday night – in the best way imaginable.

18. Tomboy, Panda Bear (2011)

You can always count on Panda Bear to make hypnotic, loopy electronic music sound so breezy and effortless.

17. Modern Vampires Of The City, Vampire Weekend (2013)

I don’t know why, but I want to dislike Vampire Weekend so much. But that’s impossible when their music is so damn good and every note sounds so neat and perfect.

16. Past Life Martyred Saints, EMA (2011)

Just do yourself and listen to this album please.

15. The Archandroid, Janelle Monáe (2010)

Blending too many genres to count, this is what I imagine music sounds like in space.

14. Carrie & Lowell, Sufjan Stevens (2015)

I’ll let you know how I feel about this one after I stop crying.

13. The Suburbs, Arcade Fire (2010)

It’s everything you either love or hate about Arcade Fire. Grand, sincere and sweeping rock that swings for the fences with every guitar chord, drumbeat and horn blast. I love it.

12. Silence Yourself, Savages (2013)

Savages grab you by the throat and never let go – this is one intense album.

11. Helplessness Blues, Fleet Foxes (2011)

This might be the epitome of ‘10s indie rock – and for good reason. Introspective, sensitive and searching for some greater meaning, Robin Pecknold holds nothing back and lays it all out on Helplessness Blues.

10. Kaputt, Destroyer (2011)

Dan Bejar is an enigma and seemingly reluctant rock star. I saw him perform an acoustic set where he spent a majority of the time playing with his back towards the audience (although in fairness, it was at a free outdoor show on a college campus with people mostly chatting obnoxiously over him), and yet it’s as if his creativity requires him to constantly release new albums and show them off. Kaputt is as equally strange and mysterious – and just as creative – as its maker.

9. Black Star, David Bowie (2016)

Take away the heartbreaking circumstances surrounding this album’s release and it would still be in the top tier of David Bowie’s extensive catalogue. Experimenting until the very end, Bowie morphed into something entirely new one last time. Part jazz, part rock and part I’m not sure what you would call it, the results were once again out of this world. He couldn’t give it all away, but we’re sure thankful for what he could.

8. Bon Iver, Bon Iver (2011)

Shedding the cabin in the woods vibe, Justin Vernon took a giant leap forward with Bon Iver and made ‘80s soft rock popular.

7. Celebration Rock, Japandroids (2012)

Perhaps the most aptly named album on this list, no other album exudes the joy of making music and rocking out with your buddy than this one. It’s hard to believe all that noise and energy comes from just two people.

6. Burn Your Fire For No Witness, Angel Olsen (2014)

Angel Olsen’s hypnotic and seductive vocals, lyrics and guitar suck you in immediately, mesmerizing you from the first gentle strums to the peaks and valleys of “Lights Out” and “Stars” all the way to the closer’s pulsing drumbeats and majestic piano.

5. Black Messiah, D'Angelo And The Vanguard (2015)

Oozing with cool, sexy and confident R&B funk, D’Angelo returned after 14 years with an instant soul masterpiece.

4. The Monitor, Titus Andronicus (2010)

It says a lot when a band can a.) make an hour plus punk rock record b.) loosely base it on the Civil War c.) quote Abraham Lincoln d.) close it out with a 14 minute track inspired by a famous naval battle and e.) still make you want to listen to it over and over and over again.

3. Lost In The Dream, The War On Drugs (2014)

The rare album that can feel vast and ambitious and yet deeply private and personal all at once. You really will get lost in these soaring songs.

2. Halcyon Digest, Deerhunter (2010)

At times perfectly melodic and structured and at others feeling on the brink of falling apart, Halcyon Digest is a paradox – sounding peaceful, bright and idyllic while also peering over the edge into something darker. This is a remarkable record from a remarkable band. If not for the abrupt end to the darkly beautiful closer “He Would Have Laughed,” Halcyon Digest sounds like it could go on forever.

1. Let England Shake, PJ Harvey (2011)

A stunning, thought-provoking, and moving – not to mention endlessly listenable – transcendent piece of art about life and the Great War. PJ Harvey doesn’t hold back on the brutality and absurdity of armed conflict, and the album’s devastating closing track – “The Colour of the Earth” – will linger in your mind long after the record stops spinning. As powerful today as it was eight years ago, this album will remain timely and important for years – and decades – to come.

[strange-spaghetti]

☽☼ King Crimson ♪ 

I don't think I've ever seen one of my original flautist/saxophonists before, so hearing Mel Collins play, my reaction was absurd & I had no means of toning down my enthusiasm because OhMyGod! Incredible! I went berserk! My entire being: enamored & amazed. Sometimes the sax & horn levels were too low & his monitor must have been too high (& he will gesture to the s.e.). But the flute! He sounded gorgeous. Every time he picked up the flute, I was beaming. FRAME BY FRAME! Having flute on Frame By Frame was my favorite aspect of the night. That! was So! good! Belew Crimson is my favorite (sorry, Greg- sorry, Wetton- sorry, dude I can't recall the name of because frankly I only really go to that era when I want Mel, Lizard, & crazy jazz textures X)... Definitely not enough Simmons *bongk-pingk* electronic drums, but maybe that's a novel Broof thing they don't want reflected on them now. I don't know, I think Simmons is kind of just as synonymous with Crimson as mellotron... which also was very mildly done, but psyched whenever Fripp went for his keyboard. TONY! Man, too cool. What a character & a player. Maybe because of my horrible car speakers I expected the chapman stick to be louder (haha, duhmb), but way cool & sounded (&felt) beautiful on Starless. Starless was pretty shaky getting into it. &! I think, unless he was on some SERIOUS delay or loop, The Sax Was Dubbed! he went to fix the mouth piece & uhh.., sax was still playing. The dudes in front of me noticed too, so I can't be making it up. A lot of the heavyheavyheavy metal-esq jams that ya know scatters out & then collectively comes back after a few minutes to f*cking HIT you back into the song AHHHH!!!!! I was so excited to experience that. I love the long tedious & sometimes dragged bits that are Absolutely necessary to play contrast to the build up & bring back, like I get psyched watching videos of them do that & it was SO! Great to live in one of those moments. Professionals, dudes. An honest to god skill being able to do that sh*t live, in one take, right before you. Super incredible.  "Who's doing this?" Oh, my god, Alice that's Fripp! Godddddd, I love him! His way of playing is out of this f*cking world & he can make a guitar sound like a synth or a percussive instrument. A craftsman. There was this moment, wish I could remember which song, where the lights went dark red (not much stage design or lighting, which for them, works). This red presence canvased all & then there was Fripp: a vision in front of green illumination coming from the screens of his rack interfaces. (Hi, I love lighting a lot) I soaked it up. Gorgeous & the longest of my memories because the sight of it was deeply beautiful & I was just. there. Living & truly in love with life in the present beautiful moment of looking upon Robert Fripp. Not just was it wonderful to hear King Crimson songs & watch them perform, but Robert Fripp, ya know? I love his style & solo work a lot, I admire him a lot & what moves him to do what he does & practice. A lot of what he has spoken of & speaks of resonates with me & makes sense to my way of being; musically, spiritually, just being a thoughtful human being. Ah, I saw Robert Fripp. : ) Ah! & Mel Collins☆, & Tony (again) which man oh man that man. He makes everything just a little bit brighter which is funny to say since ya  know bass, but definitely a key ingredient to full pieces of music... The singer reminded me of Billy Sherwood, that may sound daft. He just moved like him. I only know of the singer because of a photo of him & pH. His voice works, & I'm for sure hard to please in that area. Singers matter, not sorry to say. Unique one of a kind instruments that time will take & alter, you can't say that about any other musical device. Like EASY MONEY! Sounded so tight! & Even from the Bah-Dee-Dow-Dow's !!!#@$##^@#$! AHHH, Yes! So happy they did that one. They did Cat Food.. which f****ck Tony! Killer! THE.THREE.DRUMS. How in the World! That was some out of sight synchronization oh my god. From the tiniest little miscellaneous percussion, they were on it! Pat was fun to watch. Rhythmic motions within the silence & of the thundering sound. Very cool... Nice piano bits that found it's way in... "No matter how closely I study it, no matter how I take it apart." Indiscipline was very different, of course no one can beat Belew, but that was really good & HAVING. MEL. THERE! ughghhh oh mygod. F*ck your composition, SAX anywhere & everywhere! Flute in any song! Give.me.it! Like flute in Frame By Frame!!! Bonkers! Absolutely mad. So in love. How can I ever listen to that song now knowing what Mel Collins has done to it?♡ ... A lot of my night was actually really bad haha. I got lost so I missed the first 15 minutes. I entered when Pictures of a City was ending : ( Really bummed. Can't recall Moonchild or In the Court just know that of course Mel Collins took 80% of my attention. I love you Fripp, but don't put an original woodwind/horn player parallel from you.... Alright: Mel Collins. The red shoes, Dig. The glasses constantly going on & off- double dig. Pretending to throw your sax, shut up! you’re still as f*cking cute as ever. Watching him adjust his equipment was cool. Fripp really didn't fiddle about with his guitar sounds if I remember correctly. Oh! except a really out of place ~groovy~ psychedelic wah-wah pedal which could have been from the singer's guitar, but that was fun. I liked that a lot. There was a guy there with a Christian Death shirt a row in front of me. When walking out I talked to him, showed him my Rozz Williams tattoo. He was heavily tattooed everywhere. This crowd felt like a bizarre scene. a third of these folks were younger & really stylized, it was kind of a spectacle to me- so many interesting looking people. & when I got to my correct seat after intermission (yeah part of being late) like the row I was in - all young. The dude next to me was f*cking good looking. What the hell is that all about? I wonder if he was like god this chick is c*mming whenever the sax plays. UGH! MEL. I hate how far I was. He would do these incredible things & it's like I NEED to "woo!" ya know!? I was so close to screaming his name because OHMYGOD! He definitely gave me a new experience. I've heard live sax/flute before (hell, I’ve recorded jazz musicians) & I’ve heard/seen Winwood's flautist/saxophonist but it wasn't really anything, even being that they were Chris Wood's compositions; it was nice, but I didn’t feel AT ALL like how I felt here- it could not compare to how moved or how over the moon ecstatic I felt for Mel Collins playing his & McDonald’s parts. Goshh.  King Crimson was one of the first bands I got into after my decade & personality shift, & I started collecting their CDS in 2016. An immense & heavily decorated atmosphere within the music, they are one of the best bands on the planet & I'm beyond happy I got to see them. I meant to see them in 2016, but I was still new to them & I didn't want to take off work. I really really really hope to see Fripp & them again. Oh, god please let me have the chance to hear Mel Collins play again, holy f*ck. (she's still on ‘im)... I haven't stopped! But i will end this here & maybe do a Mel Collins rave the next time I watch a Bryan Ferry video or listen to Camel or Chris Squire. Oh! last thing (this massive entry was written two separate days) & today I listened to Poseidon in the car to & from work & I skipped Pictures of City because I'm going to be sour about that forever, but! then after work I listened to it & %$!#$%Y@ F*ck! Mel! I really wish I got to hear him start that song off. Still too scared to look up what I missed. Next time I'm taking a taxi to begin with from the train station... I walked south of a street when I needed to have gone north... 30 f*cking minutes walking in the WRONG direction. But I made it & King Crimson was wonderful.･`✧*☆’☽゜ ...Hm, I don’t think I mentioned Mel Collins enough. Robert Fripp, who’s that?

[providentially-demonic]

The Devil and the Dead: Chapter Nine

Based on @ectoimp‘s absorbing AU sketches (Most of which can be found here!).  

I’m giving credit and kudos to @arthur-tristan-kingsmen, @phantoms-lair, @answrs and of course, the illustrious @ectoimpfor some of the discourse which guided the idea from vague AU to the story that does not want to stop running through my head. And for constantly adding new cute headcanons that are promising to make this longer.

Summary:  At first all he knew was darkness— rage, pain and the ultimate sting of betrayal.  And then Lewis opened his eyes…

Back to Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine: Into the Fire

It took longer than any of them wanted to get to the van. Vivi scowled as she stumbled over a root. “If you’re going to live out here, we need to invest in a better way of reaching this place; a nice driveway or something.”

Arthur looked up from helping Lewis, who hadn’t the energy to float, over the same root. “Um, Viv, I think that would defeat the purpose of hiding away in the woods. You know, so great big bat-winged green thing doesn’t freak everyone out?”

Vivi waved a hand irritably. “Pssh. Look at me, I’m not freaking out.”

“Because you’re you.” Arthur snarked back.

“Oh, shoosh.” Vivi returned, digging for the keys in the pocket of her skirt as they broke through the trees. “That reminds me, we need to let Lance know you’re okay. I mean there was the note, but, I mean, he really needs to know.” She pointed with the hand holding the keys to a familiar van parked on the side of the road.

“What note?” Arthur squinted suspiciously at her as she unlocked the back door of the van and he helped Lewis climb up and slide over to the middle of the seat so he could see where they were going.

“The one you sent to me, silly.” Vivi had unlocked the back of the van and was rummaging in her chests of magical supplies and relics, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. “I mean you didn’t sign it and your handwriting has actually improved, but it said you had been hurt and were recovering and asked me to let Lance know. You also asked me to let the Pepper family know that Lewis here was “still around, in spite of evidence to the contrary,” and man, let me tell you did that one get me some strange looks!”

“Vivi, I didn’t send you any note.”

“I sent it.” Lewis confessed, petting his little deadbeat’s head absently. “You were so worried about letting Vivi and my folks know that we were still— around, but you never once mentioned Lance. Did you think he wouldn’t be worried sick too?”

Arthur ducked his head, lips pressed tight. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? We have more important things to worry about, like getting your anchor back.”

“It does matter!” Vivi huffed, emerging from her excavating with her hands full of an assortment of esoterica, including a small vial that glowed with an eerie red luminescence. “And we’ll be talking about it later, like it or not, you can bet your scrawny green butt on that!” She hip-checked the rear door closed and shifted things into the crook of one arm until she had freed a hand to pull the keys out of the lock.

“Think fast!” She chucked the keys at Arthur, who yelped, but snagged them out of the air almost instinctively,

“Vi—” he protested, keys dangling loosely from one claw. “I can’t drive. Not like this!”

“You can. I need my hands free to work on something to deal with Mystery. And he’s too weak to drive.” She cocked a thumb at Lewis as she clambered into the passenger seat. “You always were the best driver. I trust you.”

Arthur shut his mouth with a snap, blinking. He glanced back at Lewis, and then once more at Vivi, before nodding firmly and climbing into the driver’s side door. It took him a moment to arrange his bandaged wings and tail so they were out of the way, but at last he swallowed hard and inserted the key into the ignition. He turned it and the van rumbled smoothly to life. “Here goes nothing.”

Gingerly he pressed the ball of his elongated foot on the gas pedal, flinching a little when the van responded by gliding forward back onto the road. “W-which way, big guy?”

Lewis indicated the division in the road. “Left. It’s east of here.”

Arthur nodded, his hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, and a little more confidently, pressed on the gas.

Between giving Arthur more directions, Lewis watched Vivi curiously. She had a cloth spread over her knees and three slips of vellum that were inked with black kanji and other sigils he did not know. He knew some of the kanji though, Vivi had taught him and Arthur the most basic of wards long before they had taken to the road in search of the paranormal.

As he watched, Vivi picked up the tiny vial and stared at it for a long moment, brow creasing in a frown. Finally she sighed heavily and picked up one of the wards. One at a time, she wrapped each strip around the softly-glowing bottle, muttering something under her breath that might have been japanese, but it didn’t sound like any of the words Lewis knew. Each time, the red glow of the vial dimmed a little more, and the sigils and kanji started glowing with the same clear ruby color.

At last she settled the slips back onto the cloth on her lap and let out her breath in a long exhale. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, but her fingers were steady as she rolled each ward into tiny little scrolls and inserted them each into small two-part metal capsules with a loop on one end, screwing the two halves together tightly. She lit the stub of a red candle with the van’s cigarette lighter and carefully dripped wax over the seals of each of the tubes. Finally, she threaded each one onto a leather thong that she knotted to make a necklace out of.

Lewis accepted the one she handed to him. The metal was smooth and cold and a dull gray-silver that he knew without asking was cold iron. Mystery wasn’t hurt by it, but his magic did nothing absolutely against it. “What did you just do? That wasn’t like any warding I’ve ever seen you do, even though I recognized some of the symbols.” He slipped it over his head, a strange tingle passing through his entire being.

Vivi held up the small glass vial, now much dimmer than before, studying it contemplatively. “This is a sample of Mystery’s magic, taken directly from his Hoshi no Tama. I used it to ward him from ever coming near us.”

Arthur gulped. “Vi, he’s really, really not gonna like that.”

“Maybe— but maybe he needs to learn this lesson the hard way, He’s not thinking rationally right now. How else do you explain his actions? He’s convinced you’re a ‘demon’, yet he leaves me alone with you— after weakening the only other person there who might protect me from said demon.”

“Would protect you,” Lewis muttered. He hated that she didn’t know him well enough to know that he would walk barefoot through hell for her. “And Artie’s not a demon.”

“I know that and you know that, but Mystery— he’s not playing with a full deck at the moment. He needs something, a— a shock to the system to make him realize just what he’s doing.” Her face was grim as she slipped one of the pendants over her own head. “Maybe this will be enough to do it.”

Arthur looked down at his hands on the wheel briefly before returning his attention to the narrow dirt road they were now following. “I— I won’t deny that I’m terrified of him. For what he did and what he tried to do. But— It’s still Mystery. I can’t like this plan entirely, Vivi.”

Vivi sighed, reaching over to drop the last necklace over Arthur’s head, delicately keeping it from blocking his vision or tangling on his horns. She smoothed his hair back into place once it had settled around his throat, the metal looking bright against his green skin. “To be honest, neither do I. I think—” she heaved another sigh. “I think it’ll scare him, and I hate to do it in the state of mind he’s in right now. But it can’t go on like this.”

Lewis lifted his head. His locket was close now and the proximity made him feel so much better than he had since the moment Mystery had stolen it. “We’re close,” he warned. “The road’s gonna fork up ahead and there’s one that’s barely even a goat track; that’s the one we need. Take it as far as the van can go, but we’ll never make it up the bluff in the van. We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot. It won’t be an easy climb.”

“Before you ask, no, I can’t fly us up there.” Arthur shuddered. “I don’t even know if I can, much less want to be that far off the ground.”

Vivi stuck out her lower lip some but didn’t argue with him.

It wasn’t very much farther before the van couldn’t push on. Arthur grunted with frustration and killed the engine. “Looks like we’re hoofing it from here.” He shoved the door open, wincing at the sound of underbrush scratching against the paint, and clambered out. He hurried to pull the side door open for Lewis, but Lewis did it himself. Now that they were closer to his locket, he felt more like himself, if still a little weak. He did accept the arm Arthur held out to help him out though.

Vivi had already disembarked and was squinting at the path. “With brush this deep he won’t see us coming, that’s for sure.”

Arthur nodded. His face was still pale, but he gamely started forward. His toe-talons actually helped in terrain this rough, allowing him to grip the uneven ground. He had folded his wings as close as he could, but branches kept snagging at the bandages and causing him to wince at the tugs on his wounds.

Lewis found he could float now, and drifted upwards so he was no longer tripping on everything. He helped Arthur untangle a wing before drifting over to Vivi. “Any idea what we’re going to do when we get there?”

Vivi pursed her lips. “Arthur and I will draw him out. He can’t touch us unless we take the wards off and neither of us are going to do that. You can go intangible and go after the locket. He can’t set a ward directly on your anchor, not if he intends to purify it, so expect some barrier between you and it. There might be other wards, and you’ll have to watch out for those. Even if you can’t touch them, there are ways to disrupt them. You can find ways to break them if you try.”

Lewis nodded. She hadn’t lost her ability to take command with her memories. “I trust your wards but are you sure he can’t hurt you?”

Vivi measured a space out from her body, not quite the length of her arm. “He won’t even be able to get close enough to try. That’s what I used the sample for. The wards I made act to repel his magic alone. And since his magic is inherent, there is no way around it for him. Even if he stops using his magic, because he is inherently a magical creature, he cannot pass the ward.”

Arthur had obviously been listening in, and fingered the tiny capsule around his neck. “I-it won’t hurt him, will it?”

Vivi’s face softened and she reached out to sock Arthur lightly in the arm. “No. I promise. It just won’t let him get near.”

“G-good.” Arthur relaxed a little.

“Silly,” Vivi chided. “Even scared to death, you worry for him.”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a darker shade of green and he ducked his head. “He’s still Mystery. And he’s just as screwed up as the rest of us. We all suffered because of that damned c-cave. I’m gonna be scared of him, no matter what, because all I remember is that moment up there where he came for me. Maybe he didn’t mean for me t-to f-fall, but I did, and that’s not gonna go away that easy for me.” He rubbed the back of his neck, mindful of his claws. “But, I think— maybe— the reason he’s acting so crazy, trying to a-attack me and then running away with Lewis’s locket— is cause he’s all scared and messed up.” Arthur ducked his head. “That’s a feeling I know pretty well. He’s running scared, not only because he’s messed up in the head by what happened, but because he messed up too and he knows it. He lied to you, and he knows you don’t forgive lies easily.”

Vivi’s expression softened and she reached over to take Arthur’s hand in her own. “I know. We’re all of us messed up.” She glanced over at Lewis. “Even me. I’m missing memories— and I’m going to guess they are pretty danged important ones from the way you keep looking at me like you do.”

Lewis didn’t even know he could blush anymore, much less turn so bright a red he felt like he was glowing. “U-Umm, w-well...” he stammered helplessly.

Arthur looked up at him with a lopsided smile. “Big guy, she’d’ve had to been blind not to notice you mooning at her.” A surprisingly cheerful chuckle escaped him.

Lewis ducked his head sheepishly. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Vivi hopped over a tangle of twisted roots and struck a pose. “Don’t be sorry. If I had someone as awesome as me, I’d be all love-struck too.”

The teasing worked to break the embarrassment Lewis was feeling and he laughed. Vivi’s sense of humor was matched only by her exuberance.

“Careful, Vi. Your ego gets any bigger and there won’t be room for the rest of us on this bluff.” Arthur poked back, his grin widening enough to show the tips of his fangs.

“Pfft.” Vivi waved a hand in the air, but as quickly as she had switched into joking, she flipped back to the serious leader. “I think I see a break in the trees ahead. Lewis, now would be a good time to find a place to go in. Stay hidden until Artie and I provide the distraction you’re gonna need.”

“Gotcha,” Lewis nodded, and drifted away from the two of them. He knew he could trust Vivi to protect Arthur.

He hadn’t gone far enough to not overhear what Vivi said to Arthur in an undertone. “That’s another lie Mystery’s got to answer for. He... he told me that Lewis was a friend and nothing more.”

Lewis’s anger burned again at those words. Why would he have lied to her about that; about what she and Lewis had been, about what they had meant to each other? Mystery might have been as fucked up as the rest of them, but Lewis wasn’t going to be above scorching a few tails for that little tidbit... and for attacking Arthur.

He circled around the church, hoping that this close to his anchor, he would feel strong enough for that fire. Spotting a mostly unbroken stained-glass window, he sent his remaining deadbeat to peer inside, cautioning it silently to remain unseen. It nodded and drifted soundlessly up to the window. In a moment, Lewis was seeing what it saw in that strange sense of double vision from before. The interior of the tiny church had been swept clean, the broken pews shoved against the walls to clear the stone floor. What had been the altar had been pushed to the center of the floor, and his locket glowed softly atop it, hovering in a circle of colorless flames that burned nothing.  There was a simple circle of salt around the fire and beyond that, Mystery paced the floor in what seemed to be growing frustration. His tails lashed the air and he growled softly, teeth snapping every now and again.

Mystery padded up to the very edge of the salt circle and leaned in, brows furrowed as he peered anxiously at the locket. “It should be working. Why isn’t it working?” His voice pitched up in a worried whine.

“Mystery!” Vivi’s voice was the roar of a general in full command, echoing in from both the deadbeat relay and Lewis’s own ears. It shook dust from the rafters of the old church.

Mystery whirled away from the heart, eyes pinning rapidly and ears up.

“You get your fuzzy flea-flipping furry foundation out here before we have to come in after it!” Vivi challenged.

Mystery’s ears flattened to his neck. “We—?” He barely breathed the word. He rushed to peer out one of the broken windows, claws clattering noisily on the stone. “Oh, Vivi, no—!”

A snarl ripped out of Mystery’s throat and he flung himself at the heavy and still solid oak doors, bulling through them in a rush that gave disregard to any damage they might do to him as they shattered from the force of the blow.

Through his deadbeat’s eyes and the ragged splinters of the doors, Lewis could clearly see Vivi and Arthur standing shoulder to shoulder a few feet from the rusted iron gate of the tiny cemetery, backlight by the lowering sun that was turning the clouds to vivid orange and red. Vivi looked magnificent in her justified fury, the image of a warrior-queen, expecting everyone and every thing to bow to her whims.

Beside her Arthur was shrunken in on himself, shoulders hunched defensively and his wings furled as tightly as the bandages would allow. But he still stood firm, never giving an inch, and his gold eyes nearly steady on Mystery’s baffled face.

Mystery surged forward, stopping a few feet away. His hackles were up and he growled long and low in his throat. His eyes glowed in fury, claws tearing at the dirt beneath his feet and tails lashing in the air like a multitude of irritated cats. “Vivi, you fool! Get away from that thing!”

Vivi planted her hands on her hips and favored Mystery with one of her very best ‘you are an idiot’ glares. “Mystery, you need to pull your stupid skull out of your seven supernatural sphincters. He is not a thing; he is Artie, our dearest friend!” Her fists clenched, Vivi took a deep breath. “Please, ‘Stree...” Her hands loosened and she held them out pleadingly to him. “You’re not thinking right. You know that... you have to know that!”

Mystery shook his shaggy head violently.  “No, Vivi— you can’t trust anything he says.”

Lewis’s deadbeat chirped and drew his attention back to the job at hand. As much as he wanted to be out there protecting Vivi and Arthur, he needed his locket back to do that best.

Lewis passed through the wall easily enough, though he could sense a sort of low-level shiver across his senses from the colorless flames surrounding his anchor. Surprisingly, there seemed to be no other wards... probably a good indicator of Mystery’s state of mind.

Cautiously, he crossed the floor, and stopped just short of the line of salt. They had used salt in investigations before, as it did seem to give some ghosts pause, but he had never had an issue with it in the time since his— death. Warily, he reached out, expecting a shock or something unpleasant, but felt nothing. His fingertip touched the grainy surface of the line of salt and made an impression. A small laugh bubbled up and he broke the circle by brushing some of the salt away easily. Some cook he’d be if he couldn’t even handle a little salt!

The translucent fire around the locket was another matter altogether. One careful prod earned him a nasty shock that made him feel like he’d stuck his whole body in an electrical outlet. Yelping, he drew his hand back and stumbled backwards, too stunned to hover.

His little deadbeat whirled around his shoulders, cooing worriedly as he examined his fingers for damage. He could see nothing, but the memory of that shock made his fingers shake.

Wavering, Lewis straightened up and faced the altar and the fire that kept him from his heart. He had to get it. Nothing else mattered but reaching it so he could help Arthur and Vivi.

He glanced up at his remaining deadbeat, the lonely wandering spirit that had attached itself to him, and sent it to watch out for Arthur and Vivi. If something went wrong, he didn’t want it harmed.

He took a moment to study the fire, barely visible flames that wavered the air around the locket like a heat shimmer. He’d heard of a purification fire before, but never seen one, not a real one anyway. It was an old spell, predating a lot of religions and civilizations. The basest idea was that it could burn away corruption, an idea that had been perverted in other hands until it became indistinguishable from the witch-fire used against those accused of witchcraft.

Vivi had said Mystery didn’t want to hurt him, but that hadn’t felt like something that would do him no harm.. It had been the closest thing to real pain aside from the theft of his locket that he’d felt since the cave. Maybe it wouldn’t harm his anchor, but it seemed it could do him some real damage.

And unfortunately, the only way to get to what he needed, was through it, and he had a feeling no water would put this fire out.

He heard a snarl from outside and knew time was running short.

With a silent thought at his deadbeat to look after the others should the worst happen, he stepped forward and thrust his left arm into the shimmer of fire. For a second, he could see the flames crawling up his arm, now flickering with hints of ebon and scarlet. Then...

Lewis screamed.

[crispychrissy]

Shrink - Chapter 12

Summary: When patients of a psychiatrist that caters exclusively to hunters start going crazy and dying, Sam and Dean Winchester investigate what might be causing these bizarre episodes. Pairing: None yet Word Count: 2207 Warnings: Minor character deaths, light psychological torment A/N: My first fanfic! This is going to be a series, probably over 30 chapters total. Any feedback is appreciated, I am a newbie!

"Thanks, Dr. Barnes." Mike said as he got up from the black leather chair in Dr. Barnes' office. "I wouldn't have been able to start mentoring someone without the help you've given me." "I'm so glad, Mike. You've made so much progress. You know you can call me anytime if you need guidance." Dr. Barnes said, smiling, as she made her way to the door to her office. Mike laughed and shook his head. "Phoebe is a handful, I might have to take you up on that." Dr. Barnes opened the door and stepped through to the waiting room, followed closely by Mike. Phoebe was sitting in the same seat she was earlier playing on her phone. She glanced up momentarily as Dr. Barnes and Mike exited, but promptly turned her attention back to her phone. Not breaking her concentration, Phoebe got up from her chair and pulled her coat out from the corner of the chair it was stuffed into. "I have to go pay, Phoebe. Give me one second." Mike said as he made his way to the reception desk. Pulling out his wallet, he opened it and removed three one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Natalie. "This is all I got for today. Does it bring me up to date?" he said, as Natalie quickly grabbed the bills, causing Mike to retract his hand, afraid he might lose it. "Sorry, Mike." Natalie said as she looked up. “I’m trying to finish out this week’s billing and I keep getting interrupted. I swear I’m going to have to sleep here in order to finish it.”

"It's fine." Mike chuckled and smiled.

"Yes, this will take care of last session and this session. You're all set." Natalie said as she slid the bills into a blue zippered bag. "Do you want to make an appointment for next week?" "I'll hold off for now." Mike said has he turned and glanced at Phoebe, who was rapidly tapping her phone and smiling. He turned back to Natalie and shook his head. "I think the Pep Squad might have a case for us." Natalie smiled. "Alright, just give us a call when you can." "Thanks." Mike said has he tapped the counter of the reception desk before turning around. He walked over to meet Phoebe at the front door, stopping a moment to pull his jacket off the hook to the right of the door to the office. "I think I found a case!" Phoebe exclaimed, jumping slightly with excitement. "Alright, tell me on the way. Where is it?" Mike said as he opened the right side of the double doors and walked through, holding it for Phoebe, who followed slowly behind him. "It's in Eldon, Missouri. Looks like something is breaking into cemeteries and eating bodies. Cops think it's some sort of wild animal, but I'm thinking a ghoul. What do you think?" Phoebe said as she tapped on her phone, almost tripping over her own feet as she walked across the parking lot to Mike's car. "Maybe. How many bodies so far?" Mike asked as he slid his key into the driver's side door and unlocked it. "Four over the last two weeks." Phoebe said as she tried the passengers' side door handle and was unable to open the door. Mike opened his door and slid into the driver's seat, reaching over and popping the lock up on the passenger's door before closing his door and starting the engine. Phoebe opened her door and stepped inside, still focused on her cell phone. "Phoebe. Door." Mike said as he shifted his old raggedy pickup truck into reverse. "Oh...right." Phoebe said as she reached over and pulled her door closed. Mike rolled his eyes and backed out of the parking spot before shifting into drive and pulling up to the entrance to the side street. "Are we going there right now or are we stopping for lunch?" Phoebe asked as she typed the address of the Eldon Police Station into the map app she has on her phone. "We can get some burgers on the way. Let's get going." Mike said as he pulled onto the main road and headed for the highway. Twenty minutes later, Mike looked down at his stomach as it emitted a very loud gurgling noise. Exchanging glances with Phoebe, he shrugged. "I think we should stop for some food before we get further down the highway." Mike said, laughing lightly. Phoebe nodded and cheerfully tapped on her cell phone, trying to locate a fast food eatery close to where they were. Finding a nearby burger place, Phoebe tapped 'Directions' and hit 'Start'. A female voice began speaking, advising them to continue straight and take the next exit. Following the directions, Mike switched lanes into the far right lane and took the next exit. Taking a right at the stoplight at the end of the exit ramp, Mike continued straight, waiting for further directions from Phoebe's phone. Mike began to feel uneasy, his vision starting to become blurry. Feeling his fingers wrap tighter around the steering wheel, Mike shook his head and tried to focus back on the road. Blinking rapidly then squinting, his vision began to fade to white. Phoebe looked over at Mike, deeply concerned; the smile she persistently had on her face, gone. "Mike...are you OK?" Phoebe said, sliding her phone onto the dashboard and placing her left hand on his shoulder. Mike's grip on the steering wheel had tightened even more, his fingernails digging into his palms, causing streams of blood to begin to drip down his arms from his hands. Turning to his right, Mike blinked and was finally able to make out who was sitting next to him in his car. A young girl, probably not older than thirteen, with dark hair sat where Phoebe had just been. Mike opened his eyes in terror, recognizing the face staring back at him. The girl was staring at him with big brown eyes, completely covered in blood. Large splatters covering the length of her green t-shirt and jeans, extending all the way into her hair and across her pink headband. Trying to maintain his composure, Mike closed his eyes momentarily and turned his attention back to the road, trying to maintain control of his truck. "You didn't save me." The girl hissed, her voice distorted and raspy. "You let me DIE." "I...I didn't..." Mike stammered, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Maddie." "Sorry doesn't fix what you did. You watched those monsters tear me apart. You didn't move. Just stood there." Maddie growled back at him. Phoebe, frantically trying to pull Mike out of whatever hallucination he was in, started shaking Mike gently. Constantly turning to look at the road they were on, she grabbed a hold of the steering wheel and tried to keep the truck steady on the road. Unable to move the steering wheel more than a few millimeters to the left or right, she shifted in her seat, getting ready to stick her leg over and attempt to push the brake pedal. "Mike?! Mike...what's happening?" Phoebe shouted, trying to bring Mike back to reality as she maneuvered herself sideways in her seat. Mike could only hear the soft raspy voice coming from Maddie, everything else was quiet. Tears streaming down his face, he glanced over at Maddie as she instantly went from sitting to kneeling a few inches from his face. Her throat was ripped open, pieces of flesh dangling on each side, blood pouring from the wound. "Why did I have to die? I was only twelve years old." Maddie whispered, a subtle gurgling sound now prevalent when she spoke. "You know what you need to do. You have to make sure you can't hurt anyone else." "I'm...so sorry, Maddie. It's all my fault." Mike whispered between sobs. "I should have done something." "You can do something now, Mike. You need to stop yourself before you hurt someone else." Maddie whispered back, placing her blood-soaked hand on his right cheek. Mike nodded, his chest heaving rapidly as he wiped his eyes and looked at the road ahead. They had traveled several miles down the road they were on and about to cross over a bridge. Mike pressed his foot firmly down on the gas pedal and revved the engine. Phoebe, desperately trying to slide her leg between Mike's legs and press the brake pedal, jerked backward as Mike pressed the gas pedal. She watched in horror as the speedometer steadily and rapidly pushed from forty, to fifty, to over sixty miles per hour. "MIKE!" Phoebe screamed as she sat up and tried to push and pull on Mike. Mustering all of her strength through sheer adrenaline, she grabbed a hold of his shirt and pulled as hard as she could, tearing it. She looked back up at Mike with the ripped piece of cloth in her hand. He was staring directly at her, tears still streaming down his face. "It's all my fault. I'm going to fix it." Mike said in a calm voice, as the car bounced over the seam at the entrance of the bridge. Phoebe began to scream as she twisted around to face the passenger's side door. As she reached for the door handle, all the doors in the car locked. Trying the handle, she slammed her body against the door to push it open. She frantically tried to pull up on the door lock, her heart beating rapidly, drowning out the loud whirring of the revving engine. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her pocket knife. Flipping it open, she began to jab at the door lock and window, attempting to escape the car. As the car approached the halfway point across the bridge, Mike rapidly jerked the wheel to the right, causing the tires to screech and slide. The truck slammed through the metal fencing and pipes lining the sides of the bridge, causing sparks to fly and breaking several windows on the truck as it scraped through. The truck sailed through the air and plummeted down several hundred feet to the rocky gorge below. The truck had flipped over in midair as it fell, Phoebe still screaming from inside. The truck landed at the bottom with a loud metallic thud, the impact completely flattening the vehicle. It teetered back and forth on a rock as blood slowly oozed out between the gaps in the twisted metal and broken windows. The blood began to pool and mix with the small stream that flowed through the gorge, turning the water a deep crimson color. Chunks of flesh and bone also began to squeeze out and mix with the water as the metal heap that was one the pickup truck stopped rocking back and forth.

As Dean put the last bite of his burger in his mouth and began chewing, his cell phone rang. Quickly wiping his hands on a napkin, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the Answer button. "What's up, doc?" Dean answered cheerfully. Sam, sitting across the table from him at the diner they had found, rolled his eyes and took a bite of his salad. "Dean...something's happened." Dr. Barnes answered, her voice shaky and labored. Dean's smile faded and his eyes widened, causing Sam to lock eyes with Dean and raise his eyebrows. "What happened? What's wrong?" Dean asked. "I have a police scanner in my office, I listen to it when I'm alone working on patient files." Dr. Barnes said. "They...they said there was an accident on the bridge over Redrock Gorge. A car...drove off the side of the bridge." "A car? Do you know who it was?" Dean asked. "They gave a description of it." Dr. Barnes said, her voice breaking. "Dean...it was Mike's car. He's dead...so is Phoebe. The car flipped and...there's only pieces..." "Oh, no." Dean said as he lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. "We're going to head to the scene. We'll let you know what we find." "Thank you. I don't know how this could have happened." Dr. Barnes said. Sharply breathing in, she began to cry. "It's not your fault. We're going to figure it out." Dean said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded wad of money. He pulled out two twenty dollar bills and threw them on the table. He pointed at Sam's plate and then to the Impala through the window of the diner, motioning for Sam to finish eating. "Stay in touch, boys." Dr. Barnes said. "Please." "Will do, doc." Dean said as he pressed End and put his phone in his jacket pocket. He stood up and sighed, the concern on his face replaced with anger. Sam looked up at Dean as he wiped his mouth with a napkin before taking a sip of his soda. "Dean...what's going on?" "Mike and Phoebe are dead. He drove his car off a bridge." Dean said as he marched over to the door to the diner and opened it. Sam let out a heavy defeated sigh and got up from the table, following Dean outside and to the Impala.

[maemaeodom]

15 Body Language Signs That Show He's Not Into You

☆ You just met a new guy, and you’re already going completely gaga over him. He’s practically perfect…he has the cutest face, he dresses like he just stepped out of GQ Magazine, he has a good job, and a flashy car. There’s just one thing missing…you don’t really know how he feels about you. Sure, he asked you out on a first date, but he isn’t very vocal about what he thinks about you. Well, when it comes to men, many of them aren’t going to communicate their feelings the way women do. Instead, their real feelings towards us are shown through their body language. So the next time the two of you meet up, play close attention to the way he acts around you. Does his face lack emotion? Does he give you a fake smile when you tell a joke? These could be signs that he’s trying to be nice, but he really doesn’t see you as someone he would want to date long-term.

( 15. His Face Lacks Emotion )

☆ You’re getting into all the juicy details about the time you almost got arrested at Coachella, and you look over at your guy to see the expression on his face. When you turn to look at him, he looks absolutely blank…kind of like he’s not even there. You may think you’re boring him, and the truth is, you probably are. On top of that, he probably isn’t into you either. When a guy really likes you, his face will be very animated and expressive when the two of you engage in conversation. A quick rise of the eyebrows as you’re telling a story means he’s not only interested in what you have to say, but he’s also interested in you! But when a guy’s face lacks any kind of emotion when you’re speaking to him, he’s just not interested. Don’t even bother opening up any further, because this guy won’t be sticking around for too much longer anyway.

( 14. A Fake Smile )

☆ When you run into your BFF at the gym, you probably greet her with a hug and a big smile, right? Even the UPS guy gets a big grin from you when he drops off your packages. On the same note, when it comes to physical attraction, we’ve been taught that flashing those pearly whites can really lure a man into your web. A genuine smile holds a lot of weight in the dating world, and you can easily tell when someone is giving you a fake grin just to be cordial. The next time you meet up with your guy, observe if his smile is real or totally fake. A real smile will pull on the muscles of his face, causing his cheekbones to rise, and the skin around his eyes will tighten and wrinkle up a bit. A fake smile won’t alter the rest of the face in any way. So if he’s faking his smile, just know that he’s not being genuine, and he’s just not into you.

( 13. He’s Anxious To Step Away )

☆ Have you ever been approached by someone you weren’t attracted to, and you were desperately trying to think of a way you could get away from them? Maybe you pretended you had to go to the restroom, or you faked an important phone call just so you could step outside and get away from the conversation. Well, when a guy isn’t interested in you, he’s also thinking of ways he can make a quick dash so he can get away from you. If you think the conversation is going well, but you notice he’s starting to side step and jerk his body in the opposite direction, it could mean he isn’t interested. Unless he’s the host of a party and he has to make his rounds by greeting everyone in attendance, just assume a guy who is stepping away from you definitely isn’t attracted to you, and he may never be interested in talking to you ever again.

( 12. He Touches His Nose )

☆ Another body language action you should really pay attention to is your date’s interaction with his nose. Yup, a lot can be said about a guy who constantly touches his nose. This action has been known to mean that something negative is happening or a negative thought is running through that person’s head. It could also be a sign that he’s lying to you, and you don’t want to waste your time with a liar, do you? Basically, a lot can be told by your man’s love for his nose. The next time you meet up with the guy you’ve been crushing over, pay attention to whether he touches his nose. A slight brush off shouldn’t be too concerning, but if he’s constantly poking, rubbing, and prodding his schnoz, it could be a sign the he’s just not happy being in your presence.

( 11. He’s Closed Off )

☆ Most men don’t even realize this body language clue they give to the women they’re not interested in, and it all has to do with their legs and their private parts. When a guy wants a woman to know that he really likes her, he will open up his entire body to her by spreading his legs wide in her direction. It’s a subconscious signal that he gives to show off his stuff (if you know what I mean,) and it’s a macho way to show how much he is really attracted to you. On the other hand, a guy who isn’t interested will keep his package to himself. He will position his legs away from you and close himself off to you physically. You really thought he could be the one, but sorry, you definitely won’t be getting a sample of his goods any time soon.

( 10. His Feet Point Away )

☆ Okay, so we already know that a guy who keeps his legs wide open in your direction is a guy who’s really interested in you, but there’s a body language clue that can also be found in his feet, too. Maybe the two of you are in a cramped space, like sitting on stools at a very busy bar downtown. There really isn’t enough room for him to open up his legs wide in your direction, so instead, the guy who’s interested in you will point his feet towards you instead. Think of it this way, we move and gravitate towards things that appeal to us, and men show their appeal by positioning their bodies in your direction. So the next time the two of you go out, take a peek down below and see which direction his feet are pointing. If he’s front and center, he may not be interested. But if his feet are pointing towards you, go ahead and breathe a sigh of relief. He probably really likes you!

( 9. He Walks Ahead Of You )

☆ The two of you arrive to your destination, he parks his vehicle in the parking stall, and then he bolts out of the car and starts sprinting towards the restaurant while you’re left hobbling behind him in your five-inch Steve Madden pumps. If this has ever happened to you, the date probably didn’t end on a good note, right? That’s because a guy who walks ahead of you is sending off a bad body language cue. Men typically walk faster than women, but research has proven that when a man is interested in someone, he will slow down his pace so that he can walk next to her. They subconsciously do this to be more in sync with their partner. So if he slows down and he walks next to you, it could be a sign that he really likes you, and he has subconsciously slowed down his stride to stay at your pace.

( 8. Yawning )

☆ Not only is yawning rude, but it is a noticeable body language sign that he’s just not interested in you. There could be various reasons why a guy would yawn during a date, but in most cases, it means you’re boring him to death. Just take his yawn as a sign that the two of you won’t be falling in love anytime soon. During the first few dates, a guy should be putting his best foot forward. He should be excited to see you, he should be on his best behavior, he should be well-rested, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and he definitely shouldn’t be yawning at any point during your date. But the second he feels like the date isn’t going anywhere, he may release an obnoxious yawn to let you know he’s over you, and he’s definitely over the entire situation. Feel free to cut the date short, and hightail it out of there.

( 7. He Slouches )

☆ When a guy is desperate for a woman to be attracted to him, he will want to appear big, tall, strong and masculine. He will subconsciously stand up tall, push his shoulders back, stick his chest out a bit, and suck in his stomach (yes, even guys suck in their tummies too, ladies.) Men give off this body language sign to impress their mates, and to show off their confidence. But a guy who slouches, hunches over, and looks like he’s melting into the cement is a guy who probably couldn’t care less about how you feel about him. Aside from potentially suffering from low self-esteem, he probably doesn’t care about appearing big and strong to impress you, either. A man who carries himself in an unappealing way is telling you right to your face that he isn’t interested in you. It’s time to move on!

( 6. He Leans Away From You )

☆ Things that are attracted to you come forward, and things that aren’t attracted to you tend to repel. When it comes to sending off positive body language cues, a guy who is interested in you will lean toward you. He will want to be physically closer to you so he will find any excuse to lean in and brush up against you. He may even pull his chair closer to yours so that he can shift his body closer in your direction. On the flip side, the guy who isn’t interested in you will avoid you like you just broke out in the chickenpox. He will lean away from you, tilt his head in the opposite direction, and purposefully try to keep his body from coming in contact with you. He doesn’t want to give you the wrong idea that he’s interested, so he will subconsciously keep some distance between the two of you. It’s his way of letting you down easily.

( 5. He’s Gone Before You Make It Inside )

☆ In the movies, the guy drives the girl home from their magical date. He walks her to her front door where they share a romantic kiss, before they say their goodbyes. She heads inside and he walks back to his car beaming. He has butterflies in his stomach, and he just can’t wait to see her again. Sounds pretty amazing, right? Even though real life is nothing like the movies, the way your guy says goodbye says a lot about his attraction for you. If he drops you off at your house, doesn’t even bother to walk you to your door, and puts the pedal to the metal and burns rubber down the street going 70mph before you even put your key into the lock, it’s a surefire sign he’s not into you. A guy who really likes you will make sure you make it inside before he leaves. It’s a sign of respect, and a sign that he really likes you.

( 4. He Stands Far Away )

☆ The two of you go to an art museum, and he’s hovering over you the entire time. There’s plenty of room for the two of you to spread out a bit as you visit various exhibits, but he would much rather be all up in your personal space. Don’t get freaked out, it’s a sign that he really likes you! But if you notice that a guy is purposely keeping his distance from you at all times, this is definitely a bad sign. But don’t write him off just yet. Maybe he’s a little shy, and he doesn’t want to come on too strong. You can put his body language to the test by stepping in closer to him and observing how he reacts. If he backs away from you, then right there is your confirmation that he is not interested in you.

( 3. He Doesn’t Go Face-To-Face )

☆ You know how when you’re really interested in someone, you want to look at their face as they talk to you? Despite the fact that he has one of the cutest faces you have ever seen, looking at your date while he speaks to you shows him you’re interested in what he has to say, and you’re totally digging him. If he is just as interested in you, he should be doing the same.When a guy is really interested in you, he will turn his face so that the two of you are looking at each other head-on. Your guy is a visual creature, so of course he would want to stare at you as you speak, right? So if he isn’t attracted to you, and he doesn’t see things moving forward, he will visually block you off by only glancing at you when it is absolutely necessary.

( 2. He’s Not Protective )

☆ Guys give off subtle body language clues to the women they adore. You will notice that a guy who really likes you will be protective of you when the two of you go out. No, he’s not acting like Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard, but he will put his hand on your waist as he guides you across the street, he will extend his hand to help you get out of the car, he will pull out your chair for you, he will hold your hand as the two of you walk through a crowded bar, and he will put his jacket across your shoulders when the night gets chilly. Men are born to protect, and they love to take care of the women they are dating. But if your date is leaving you to fend for yourself, this is a sign that he just doesn’t like you as much as you think.

( 1. No Eye Contact )

☆ They say the eyes are the window to the soul, so it makes sense that if a guy is interested in you, he would instinctively gaze into your eyes as a way to connect and try to get to know you better. Studies have shown that with people we are interested in, we make eye contact 60%-70% of the time during a conversation. So if your guy’s eyes are looking everywhere except into yours, don’t assume that he’s keeping his eyes off of you because he’s nervous or shy. Even timid men will lock eyes with you more than half of the time to show that they are really interested in you. But make sure he’s not giving you too much eye contact. A prolonged gaze can come across a bit creepy, and it could also be a sign that you have a crazy man on your hands!

[ecotone99]

[MF] Nightmare (Split into two)(6.1k words)

Google docs Version

Nightmare One.

In the shadows beneath my eyelids danced dark figures, all calling out to me, reaching for me. Once in a while one of them manages to break through a barrier and grab me. And once it has taken hold, it sticks to me tightly, as if it were melted down and welded on to my brain.

I woke up after a night of chugging ramen noodles, from which I had developed somewhat of a cold sweat and a dull headache from. I remember my mother lecturing me the night before on eating late at night, especially when what I was eating was noodles. I sighed and walked out of my bedroom. My sister was still sleeping in her side of the room and it seemed that no one had woken up yet. But then I realized something, my grandmother was always awake long before I was. Yet as I walked into the living room, there was no sight of her. I knew I hadn’t seen her in my bedroom either that morning. Putting these together I came to the conclusion that she was not in the house. Though unusual, I thought nothing of it. Maybe she was shopping for tocino at Seafood City, I logicalized her absence silently. I knew my mother likely was not home either, probably with my grandmother or at work. It didn’t matter to me, I liked having the house to myself. I dreaded the moment that my sister would wake up, I knew there would be trouble once that came to be.

By this time I had resorted to looking around in drawers, not necessarily looting them, just peering through the interesting junk. My uncle’s old lighter, some old pictures, a bible. Once in a while I would find something worth taking, once in a while. I heard my sister stirring awake, and she walked out of our room. I said some things, as did she, in a tentative flow of conversation. Arguments came constantly between me and her and they could come at anytime from seemingly anywhere. I boiled up another bowl of ramen.

I wandered around outside in the apartment complex. Over the years we had managed to receive several complaints from the neighbors over us playing loudly in the middle of the apartments. We would play in different groups, it would be between me and Skylie, who lived a short walk away on the other side of the complex, or me and Eric who lived just above my house. I had likely left my own house to go to Skylie’s house to play video games with her as I often did. (Damn now that I think about it, I miss you Skylie but I lost contact with you years ago.) However once I had gotten to her door, no one had came to answer. I started towards Eric’s house instead, little did I know that I would not end up reaching it.

Just as I had began to round the corner into the apartment block we shared, bricks suddenly began to fall to the ground. The bridge and stairs leading to Eric’s house began to crumble like bread, however instead of bread crumbs, chunks of gravel. A blue, metallic arm, enormous in size, slammed against the side of the bridge. Upon seeing this, I glanced backward to a giant blue metallic being. I turned around and took off running, only to hear the sound of metal crunching down behind me in pursuit. Having lived in the apartment complex for years, I had gotten familiar with the area as a whole. With strength I didn’t know I had, I climbed over the pool fence. Above my head, the green pool gate flew and landed into the pool itself. I glanced back to see the giant behind me kicking what was left of the gates aside. He picked up one of the nearby pool tables and threw it in my direction, just as I had fallen into the pool.

I saw the arms reaching into the pool trying to grab me from the water, and swerved from its direction as best as I could. In this process the robot had swung its arm around and thus began to smash out chunks of the pool itself, leaving a gap big enough to climb out from the pool and back onto normal ground. I began running once more, through what used to be bushes and fence. But just like before I heard the clanking of metal behind me. I took a sharp turn right and sprinted through the hall. The sounds of hollow footsteps came down the hall I had just ran through. Without putting any thought to it, I hid beneath some stairs behind a large tree. It would turn out that I was very much exposed in terms of sight, but there was no changing locations at that moment. It came to my surprise that the giant robot simply stomped by and did not seem to notice the boy haphazardly hiding in plain view.

Once he had passed, I thought about heading back home and hiding there. But then I noticed the direction he had walked, in the direction of where my house would be. Regardless, I ran toward my house anyway. By this time I was wet with sweat and chlorine, puffing away in exhaustion from running. But still the adrenaline in me pumped. I thought of calling someone, but I had no phone and the only phone I knew how to use was the landline tucked away in my house. Despite the giant lurking around nearby, I was able to reach my house. But upon reaching the door, it had been locked and would not allow me inside. I tugged and pulled at it for several minutes before I gave up. It was at that moment I remembered why I had been trying to get inside in the first place. I rushed to the patio on the other side of the house, next to the apartment gates. To get to the patio I would have to trudge through a row of bushes. Normally doing so would take time but would not leave me with any scratches. However in normal circumstances I did not have to do this. I rushed through between the bushes, scraping up my legs as I began to climb up the patio barriers.

Upon trying to open the sliding door, it remained locked. However I did not stand around to think and instead ran into the storage where my family did laundry. I looked around and picked out a bat from the mess of junk on the shelves. Without any hesitation, I swung the bat onto the glass door. The blinds on the other side of the door flew about, some of which on to the floor. I walked through the gap left by the broken glass and looked around the house. My sister was nowhere to be found, and neither was the rest of my family. Still, there was no time to reflect on this. The very minute I had sat down, the arm of the giant tore through the smashed glass door and began reaching around. I grabbed the bat and began swinging on the giant arm, but in vain. The arm did not appear to be taking any damage and instead began reaching in my direction. I crept backward, keeping away from its hands. My hands shook and struggled to unlock the front door. Meanwhile the robotic arm continued to reach around trying to grab me. Once I had gotten the door unlocked I ran outside past the giant robot. As it took notice to me sprinting behind it and past another gate, its arm pulled upward, smashing through Eric’s balcony and collapsed large chunks of rubble with it.

I ran through the parking lot and into the apartment garage. Oddly enough, my mother’s car was still where it always was, despite her not being in the house. In fact, all the other cars were still there despite having seen nobody but my sister all day. There I was, a nine year old kid, running through a parking lot being chased by a giant blue robot with red stripes. And that nine year old was about to try and drive a car. For the first time, I opened an unlocked door and got into the driver’s seat. I had recently seen a movie in which a character hotwired a car by opening a compartment on the side of the wheel and connecting the wires together, and so decided by my logic, that I would be able to do the same. Miraculously, it worked.

But by the time the engine began to sound, I heard the metal footsteps echo through the garage. In the rearview mirror, a flash of blue metal. I stomped onto the gas pedal, only to force the car into a drift. The back of the car scraped against the walls of the garage, and I was now in the line of view of the robot. I grabbed the gear shift and shifted it without even looking at it. I then hit the gas pedal, however this time, instead of drifting I drove backwards and slammed into the walls. My head was smacked against the driver’s seat and violently thrown backwards in the process. I felt blood falling from my nose and down my lip. The robot was now much closer, its glowing red eyes staring into mine, a look that could pierce any soul should its gaze be held. I looked away to the gear shift, shifting it into the “F”. I hit the gas once more. Red drops began to fall in front of me as I drove forward and rammed through the leg of the robot. Once past I kept driving and eventually smashed through the brick walls of the garage, through the thick bushes on the sidewalk, and onto Mira Mesa Boulevard. I had gotten away from the robot, yes, but the car was completely wrecked from the front. I crept out of the car, blood and gasoline dripping to the floor. From watching movies, gasoline meant trouble to me and so I quickly walked away from the car, without watching where I was going. There had oddly been no traffic on the street despite Mira Mesa Boulevard being one of the busiest streets in the city.

Once away from the car, I took into notice the lack of people around me. In fact, there was nobody around. It seemed as though all of Mira Mesa had disappeared and turned to a ghost town. Through all these talks, I neglected to pay attention in which direction I had been walking, forgot about what had just happened. For reasons I had not known, I was once again walking through the very apartment complex I had just been chased and nearly killed in. I subconsciously drifted toward my house, dripping of blood and sweat. There was, however, a satisfactory silence in the lack of population around me. I stumbled about through the apartments, occasionally wiping the blood from my face. I kept looking around just in case there was any sign of people walking about, just about forgetting the robot that had just chased me and was likely roaming the complex looking for me. Roaming without any legs. Although it likely was still in the garage, it was still dangerous to even be in the complex, but that went over the head of a nine year old wandering around, lost in thought.

By the time I had reached the hallway of my apartment block, the rubble from Eric’s apartment still lay on rhe ground, but it looked swept aside as if someone had came by to clean it. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if there was someone nearby. But I shrugged it off and walked toward my house. Though I did not remember ever actually closing the door as I ran out of it, it was closed once more. Though I almost went up to it, I had the urge to just walk by and roam some more, looking for people. But by roam, I meant around one small apartment block that took less than a minute to round. And then I circled that block again. And again. By my fourth round of this circle I had travelled in, I noticed the door to my apartment was open, only a crack. Nevertheless I kept walking. Suddenly it sprang open and my grandmother appeared.

“THERE YOU ARE!” she yelled out angrily in Tagalog. She charged at me with a knife and swung the blade at me.

Nightmare Two.

I woke up that morning once again in a cold sweat, breathing heavy, with my heart pounding on my chest. I looked over to where my grandmother had been asleep. It had only been a dream. I walked out into the living room to check the time. It was 5 o’clock in the morning. Ii sighed and went back to my room, falling back into sleep for the next half hour before I would be awakened for school. I’d had a dream of being nine years old and getting stabbed by my own grandmother, but when I woke up I was thirteen.

Upon waking up again, everything instantly felt off. A dull ring blared in my ears, though I could not pinpoint the source, nor hear it clearly enough to distinguish it. Though the light shining through the house had an orange hue, everything had a bluish accent to it. Once I had gotten to school, everything became even more off. Most of the people I saw were wearing black. Some of them didn’t even have faces, though I dismissed this because of my lack of eyeglasses. In these mornings I would wander around looking for something stupid to do, which in most cases involved loitering in a certain area for a period of time, or fighting in the bathrooms.

Everyone, and every clique, stood around where they usually were. Zane, in his 49ers jacket, making the same edgy jokes. Alex strolling around, ducking his head with every step he took. The different Angels walking around doing things, acting like anything but angels. Little did I know at the time that once the year ended there would be no more seeing them. Not far away stood more people congregating amongst one another. Dominalene, Angelina, Trevor, Jessie, Cirena, and many more stood around talking. Most of the people in this are had at least some knowledge of one another, some had more history together than others. But as I came near, the feelings of uneasiness in the air increased. One of the Angels walked up to me waving a pair of expensive shoes that didn’t even fit him.

My vision went red and I suddenly felt drawn to rushing him. In my ears, the screams of a man in agony rang out, and in the midst of it, almost a whisper just below the screams. But I couldn't make out a word of what was said, all I knew was that it wanted me to attack Angel. I resisted the urge to rush him though. After about what felt like a minute of resisting the red faded away and the screaming stopped. The whispers were still there but they were faint. Angel must not have seen anything because he nonchalantly flashed his ill-fitting shoes at me once more before walking off. I stumbled back a little bit, dumbfounded. But I shook it off, for who knows why.

I looked in the direction of the office, where people wandered about waiting for school to start. I think I even saw the glint of glasses glancing at me, but once more I shook it off. A faint, black dust floated in the air, but nobody seemed to really acknowledge it. Just nearby I heard some yelling. Zane was yelling a random racist joke into the air, not getting a second look from anyone because it was typical of him to shout these things at people. Even the teachers let his blatant swearing pass.

Eventually everyone drifted toward the same tree, Zane yelling obscenities, Rich Angel showing off his shoes too small for him, thugs and wannabes creeping about. Everyone congregated as if nothing were off, but as soon as I had made my way toward the crowd my vision began to glow red. For a moment, the screams faded. As I got into the middle of the small crowd, so too did the red vision. It had intensified and suddenly disappeared in the span of thirty seconds.

As the year progressed, those who had left for highschool the year before had their slots filled by other people, though they did not necessarily have the same chemistry as the original line up from the year before. In a way, some of them were just tied to each other by mutual drama. Child’s play. Others were just there to show off. Both Angels had something to show off, the rich one flashing as much expensive clothing as he could, while the other Angel made attempts to intimidate everyone he spoke to.

Once in the small crowd of people talking, the screams had faded, the red in my vision was gone, but there was still something that felt “off.” It was as if it were radiating off somebody there. My mind pondered the possibilities. Zane’s racial slurs had become so commonplace that it was largely ignored. The rich Angel was always showing off to everyone, nothing new there. I had long gotten used to the assembly of thugs and the wannabes, what they boasted about. If they were planning anything, I would have seen it long before they put it into action. The thugs were congregating amongst themselves, shushing the loudmouth wannabes. The wannabes were pretending to plan a crime, quite loudly, crimes in which they would never dare to commit. Neither of these groups troubled me.

Then, a flash of black shined in the corner of my eye. As soon as I glanced toward it I could have sworn I once again saw the glint of glass reflecting the sunlight. Cirena looked at me with almost a glare, yet it also read something to the effect of “Don’t worry about it.” Once again, I shrugged it off and looked away, but as soon as I had looked in another direction the black dust grew more in density. Yet nobody seemed to say anything about it, even Angelina, who was standing next to Cirena. Nobody else even looked toward Cirena when the black flashed at her side. It was as if she and I were the only ones to notice the black dust that was accumulating near us.

I walked away, yet I could feel a glare following me as I did. As I walked off, so did some of the thugs. We all walked toward the bathrooms.. One of then suggested slap boxing, between me and another kid. As soon as we got inside of the bathroom my vision went red. The screams built rapidly from a whisper to roar. I blacked out, or in this case, “redded” out.

Once my vision returned, I came back to a face with a drop of blood flowing downward. I watched as the crowd began to disperse and everybody left the bathrooms before they attracted any suspicion from the vice principal. We all returned to the first crowd, laughing at one another, and at the wannabes who ran off as soon as they felt nervous. Once we got back to the general area next to the front office we split off and began congregating in different groups. My vision was still red, but everything was clear as day. The black dust cloud had subsided, or was impossible to see because of the red vision. The screams were back, almost as loud as before. I could hear people speak but in the background there was still a scream. I could feel glares once again, and a flash occurred once more. Every time something like slap boxing or even a real fight had just happened, the thugs and wannabes became excited, while everyone else silently passed judgement for the immaturity shown.

Another flicker at the corner of my eye. As soon as I turned to face it, the red in my vision faded away. Cirena held up her hand, a black symbol made of the dust floated above. It was a symbol I did not recognize, nor did I believe any of the thugs would recognize. Angelina continued looking toward everyone else,talking with them, as if she didn’t notice Cirena to her left. The symbol resembled something somewhat of a skull, or a pentagram, or… something else. The symbol, or symbols, did not stay stationary. Black sand fell from its sides and turned into dust. Cirena stared me down as the symbol flickered and flashed like a hologram. This time she did not seem to look away. She did not say any words but her face read of a message to the effect of: “You don’t know what you just got into.”

The screams got louder and I felt drawn to charging at her. The screams however, were not the screams of psychos charging into battle, it was the screams of cowards going into “fight or flight” mode, as if I HAD to charge or else I would be in my own downfall. Unlike what had happened in the last few minutes, there seemed to be a greater urgency to attack, as if there were something to fear. It was as if the others I had closed in on with the screams were just meant to be for the fun of the screams in comparison to this. As if to say the others were just exhibitions, and this was the championship that actually mattered. Only there was no fun, or rewarding involved.

My vision never went red but we continued to stare each other down. She must have sensed the demonic sense going on inside of me. She would not look away. The screams did not subside. I continued to resist the urge to charge at her. The longer I looked on the louder the screams seemed to get. She flicked her fingers in the air, manipulating the black dust. The sand which had fallen swirled around through the general area. The symbol flickered in and out, depending on the position of her fingers. The screams continued to get louder and I resisted the urge to charge much more. Nobody else seemed to look at us.

She flicked her wrist once more and a flame shot up from her hands, replacing the single. But in the blink of an eye the flame was gone. The screams faded away and so I looked in another direction. The very moment I did so, smoke erupted from a trash can nearby, but faded away just as soon as I looked at it. Soon the bell rang out and everyone started walking off to where there advisory classes were. No one made any mention of what had just happened. Alex walked along with me, but everyone else walked in other directions. Just before we entered our separate classes, directly next to each other, we moved our hands about in a handshake type motion.

The red visions and screams returned. I stared him down as the urge to attack Alex intensified. In the top corner of my eyes a blade began to droop downward. Once Alex walked had walked into his class they faded away and inside I went into my own class.

Through the whole day, everything became weirder and weirder. My classes passed in what felt like a few minutes. During each of these few minutes I would feel alone to the point of extremity. Things I looked at would either flicker like a broken camera, or erupt into a flame for a few seconds only to be restored a second later. Everytime I walked across campus I would feel a glare that I could never locate the source of. On top of this, there was always a black cloud following me around that nobody else seemed to see. Every once in a while the screams would fade in and out. Sometimes, things went red.

For a reason I can’t comprehend, I ended up somehow being in a science class I had the year before. Oddly enough, I shrugged it off as normal. I hated the class I would have been in anyway. I couldn’t read the faces of anyone inside, even the teacher’s. Most of the people inside avoided talking to me, nothing new there. The room flickered in between darkness and light, but again, not a word was said about this. I figured it was some kind of spirit day which I had managed to forget about, figured it would be a stretch of the reasons everything went on that day.

I could have sworn that throughout the class, the faces I had remembered from the year before would flicker on pictures, on my phone, even on the shirts of my classmates. In fact, one of them may have even walked in. They were the faces of Rafael, David, Bernabe, Michelle, Armando, Shakira, Magnus, and even more. Sometimes they were the faces of those who were still in middle school along with me. They had been part of the old groupings. Dominalene and Cirena. The faces of others flashed as well. Jayvee, Tristan, Ryan, and Joren.

Once the bell rang everyone ran outside. I walked over to the shop class just next to the science class. But before I had made it through the doors, Kyosuke, the biggest wannabe of them all, ran at me screaming obscenities. This was commonplace for him. He spoke of antics he could never have done. He screamed of having ties to people who never would have taken him serious if he actually met them. Plus, I hated him too. My vision began to redden and the screams faded in.

This time I hadn’t began to resist the red vision by the time Kyosuke had gotten into striking range. The blade from before dropped into my hands seemingly from the sky. I charged in a speed I knew I did not have and got into his face. Once in front of him I swung the knife for his throat. The blade went through the skin and bone cleanly. By the time I had realized what I had done, Kyosuke was on the ground grabbing for his throat, which was bleeding heavily. I resisted the urge to strike again which was ringing in my ears so heavily.

Kyosuke's eyes began to roll backward into his head. All one could see were the whites in his eyes, and even those were fading. Suddenly his face started to melt and morph. It pulled upward and blew into the sky as if it were a plastic bag. Once his head was gone, so followed the rest of his body. I stood, paralyzed, watching the wannabe faded into the darkness and disappear like mist.

The knife I carried transformed to a black dust, which flew backwards behind me. I turned around to see Cirena standing there, arm stretched out with a black flame glowing in her palm. Nobody else had been along that long stretch, therefore meaning there would have been no witnesses. Cirena made a gesture with her fingers and the dark flame died out. I stood still, not saying anything. I was in too much shock to really move, yet she walked away as if nothing had happened. For a second she glanced at me, before disappearing into a black cloud of darkness.

It took a few minutes for the shock and paralysis to wear off. In this time several of my classmates walked passed me and into the shop class. Once it had wore off, I walked into the class just as the bell began to ring. In this class would be both the rich Angel and Alex among others. We sat for a few minutes before going into the actual shop. The year having almost ended, half the class went about passing time unproductively. Rich Angel was walking around the tables, showing off his shoes. Alex was in the corner talking to a kid I hardly knew. The younger kids were messing with random pieces of wood they had found on the ground or the table. I stared ahead at the blank screen in front of me, listening to the faints screams in the background of my mind. I was barely comprehending what had just happened outside.

Angel walked over to me and asked those of us just sitting in the class if we wanted to go into the “attic.” This “attic” referred to the wood storage room to the side of the classroom which held an area elevated by a small ladder. This attic was rarely ever entered due to the need of a key to access it. The only other time in the year that we had gone up there, we had left a styrofoam model head, plastered with various sayings and names. Me, Alex, and the one kid I did not know agreed.

We walked over inside and shut the door. Once inside we climbed up the ladder and tossed the head around the room. There were a few other things in there like clocks and glass pieces, even discarded wooden toys that could be used for scrap wood. We didn’t care about getting in trouble because the school year was almost over and we were 8th graders, bound for high school the next year. Everything that had happened outside was almost beginning to fade from my mind, save for the occasional screams.

Then there were real screams. My vision began to glow red and orange. The room itself had dramatically darkened as the floor began to shake. Outside I could hear screams of those shouting about a fire. Immediately upon hearing this, Angel ran out from the storage, tossing the head backwards at us. The hands on the clocks spun rapidly,the glass began to crack, and the wooden toys floated around the room. Alex frantically jumped down the ladder and shook at the door in vain. He tried to yell out to those outside but they were having their own problems outside. The styrofoam head began to levitate in the air. It faced in Alex’s direction and slowly crept behind him.

Alex continued to bang on the door some more, his fists quickly beginning to bleed as he banged on the metal door. Behind him, the head approached. Finally the chunk of styrofoam nudged itself on Alex’s back. Alex turned to face the head, falling backward onto the door immediately upon seeing it. The head continued to approach Alex and nudged itself against him. Alex screamed out and kept shoving it away with hands. The blood from his palms bled onto the head, making the head look even more menacing in combination to the phrases and names written on to it. After a moment, Alex took a swing at the head. A piece of styrofoam fell in front of me and the other kid, who was already having a panic of his own. Upon looking over once more at Alex and the head, or what was left of it, the punch revealed something from beneath the styrofoam. What was removed by the punch revealed a grey, metallic skull. Under the lower half of the face, the jawline, jagged fangs stuck out from the mouth of the skull like daggers. The blood on the head made the fangs look much more menacing, and on top of this, Alex had gotten cut upon swinging his fist at it. The blood from his cut only splattered onto the fangs. It dripped downward. The head continued to float towards him. In this panic, Alex ran to the other corner of the room, out of my sight. The sound of wood hitting the ground followed.

The lights began to flicker on and off in a rapid manner. I sat on the corner of the attic area, my head against both sides of the wall. I stared blankly at the other kid across the room. My eyes stayed droopy, but I never blinked. I just stared straight ahead at the other kid. Once the others had began to panic, the kid had crawled to the corner, held onto his knees and began to rock back and forth. The lights continued to flicker and created a dull, dim hue. The toys floated in the air and surrounded him, taunting at him with every revolution. He screamed out at them, and buried his eyes into his knees. He shook with fear, the hair on his head began to fall to the ground. Before they even touched the ground they had turned from a light brown to a grey hue. His veins could be seen pupping from his neck, his arms, and his head. Soon the wooden dolls began to swarm onto him, forcibly removing his arms and knees from his head, exposing it to the air. He began to scream even louder, but more distorted. His eyes rolled into his head, just like Kyosuke’s had. The rest of his face began to melt, and the liquid created from this melting dripped into a puddle on the floor. One of his eyeballs rolled from inside his head and reappeared in his mouth. Those too began to melt. Even as he melted away he continued to scream, each scream more distorted then the last. His nails dragged on the wooden floors and created bloody scratch marks. The melting on his lower half had gone much faster than the melting in his head. Eventually the screams were cut. His whole body had melted into a thick puddle of red and white. The dolls fell to the floor.

The screaming in my head had faded away, replaced by a form of distorted music, comparable to that of a violin. Through all that had just happened my head still lay against the wall. I felt like banging it onto those very walls, but I didn’t move despite this. I just stared ahead blankly, feeling numb as I just witnessed the horrors that unfolded. My thoughts rewinded back to every moment in the day, over and over again. I thought about my vision going red at the randomest moments, I thought about the screams of agony I heard, and I thought about the urge to charge on people that I had. And then I thought back to what had happened near the trees, with Cirena flashing dark symbols into the air with her hands, the glare she gave me, and the screams of fear that came with it. Maybe those moments had been imaginary, and as the day had progressed it had manifested into a reality. I truly did not know what really happened. I didn't even know if I could tell what was real and what wasn’t. From the other side of the room, I heard the rustling of wood. The head appeared in front of me, bloodier than ever. It had become so wet with blood that parts of the styrofoam were melting off, revealing much more of the skull. However, the head did not seem to be hostile towards me. As it drifted toward me, I felt no need to run or hide, or even swing my fists at it. Once it reached me it did not try to jab its fangs anywhere. Rather it levitated to my side, turned, and dropped to the floor. It lay against my side. The distorted music began to fade. My vision had returned to normal, save for the tunnel vision I was developing. I continued to stare off straight ahead, shaking a little. I watched the lights flicker on and off, in a much more slow fashion than previously. The ground wasn’t even shaking anymore. The clocks and the glass pieces had long been smashed to bits. The wooden toys lay lifeless. I couldn’t hear any more screams, just the fire outside of the storage room. I felt liquid dripping down my cheek, but I couldn’t see it. I didn’t even move my hands to wipe it off. Slowly my vision grew darker and darker, and maybe, so too did the lights. Eventually I was just in a room of blackness sitting with my head on the wall, and a styrofoam head to my side. But even then, I still couldn’t tell if this was reality. Did I just die?

submitted by /u/Goblin_One_5_2_k [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2Wh0FT5

[robertkstone]

2018 Jaguar F-Type Coupe Turbo-Four First Test

Ian Callum’s ability to design such beautiful cars with regularity must drive the other guys nuts. Just look at the F-Type. Proportion is spot on. The body’s gesture needs no superfluous creases to create “surface excitement.” Every line counts. Less is, indeed, more, and the F-Type’s mere shape is what makes it what it is – a Jaguar incarnate and stunning. Name a prettier modern car powered by a four-cylinder engine. We’ll wait.

New for 2018

The entire 2018 Jaguar F-Type lineup receives simpler but bolder front/rear fascia updates to better distinguish one model from another. All get full LED lighting, extensive interior tweaks including Jaguar’s latest infotainment system, and new magnesium-framed “slimline” seats, which aren’t just shockingly comfortable and supportive, but also are said to save 17 pounds compared to their predecessors.

With the addition this year of a special-edition F-Type 400 Sport, and this base trim with its turbo-four engine, the two-door, two-passenger 2018 Jaguar F-Type model line has grown to a dizzying 24 variants. Between coupe and convertible, three engines encompassing six different output ratings (four can be had with a 6-speed manual transmissions, all others an 8-speed automatic), and 10 variants are available with AWD. In contrast, the hardtop-convertible Mercedes-Benz SLC-Class has two variants, and the Porsche 718 offers 10 variants between the Cayman and Boxster.

Ingenium Power

While the rest of the F-Type’s 3.0-liter supercharged V-6 and 5.0-liter supercharged V-8 engines produce between 340 and 575 horsepower, the rating for this new Ingenium 2.0-liter turbo-four stands at an impressive 296 horsepower and 295 lb-ft of torque. The Mercedes-Benz SLC 300’s 2.0-liter turbo-four makes just 241 hp/273 lb-ft, but the Porsche 718 duo’s 2.0-liter turbo-four ups it to 300 hp/280 lb-ft. So the Jag is definitely in the game here.

The Ingenium I-4 is all aluminum, uses direct injection, and an innovative electrohydraulic valvetrain. Its exhaust manifold is integrated directly into the cylinder head. A twin-scroll turbocharger rides ceramic bearings and ensures that the maximum torque is delivered at just 1,500 rpm. That early-onset torque peak is supposed to reduce the sensation of turbo lag, but it’s only partly successful. At low- to mid-rpm engine speeds when you whack the throttle, there’s definitely a delay before the engine reacts. Of course, it’s nearly impossible to eliminate turbo-lag (unless a turbo can be spun up with something other than exhaust gas, like the best, current hybrid F1 power units do).

Speaking of exhaust, here’s a spotter’s guide to help determine the engine of the F-Type you’re following: a large center-mounted single outlet is the new inline-four; center-mounted twin tips are V-6s, and outboard-mounted quads are V-8 models.

Weighty Matters

Jaguar says installing the turbocharged four-cylinder engine in place of the supercharged 3.0-liter V-6 reduces the car’s weight by about 115 pounds. It also shifts the overall balance rearward by 1 percent (we keep receipts). The last F-Type S (380-hp V-6) we tested weighed 3,809 pounds with 52/48 percent front/rear distribution. Also rear-wheel drive and equipped with an eight-speed automatic, this 2.0-liter 2018 F-Type was, in fact, 207 pounds lighter, but its distribution was biased slightly more on the nose, with 53/47 percent front/rear distribution. Odd. Perhaps our tester’s optional equipment, especially its panoramic glass roof ($1,175), upset the balance.

Be that as it may, the new, lighter F-Type Jaguar gets monotube dampers, reduced spring rates in the suspension, and a recalibrated electric-assist power steering system. This part delivers a noticeable benefit. The four-banger F-Type definitely feels 200 pounds lighter than the V-6, especially going about the business of negotiating corners. The front end feels quicker to react and more obedient to stay put in the corner. The rear end, however, can still be edgy, but not in the way of the more powerful F-Types.

In the process of lapping our figure-eight course, I found the engine has just enough torque to step the rear out, but only slightly and controllably on exit. The biggest challenge is corner-entry over-steer. There’s an edginess to it, and it will easily bite if you try to enter with too much speed, then snap the quick steering. I was constantly making steering adjustments around the skidpad, mostly in an involved “this car needs me” sort of way; not in a threatening way. Strong brakes never faded, but I wish there was more feel/less squish in the pedal.

Despite having an 84-hp deficit compared to the last F-Type S we previously tested, the new F-Type 2.0 lapped our figure-eight in an identical 25.4 seconds. Nicely done. The new F-Type also showed an advantage on the skidpad, averaging 0.95g lateral acceleration to the S’ 0.90g. Impressive. Still, at 3,601 pounds, the aluminum-bodied 2.0-liter F-Type is no lightweight. A similarly powered 718 Cayman (3,140 pounds as-tested) undercut this Jaguar by an unbelievable 461 pounds, plus it dispatched our figure-eight in a scant 23.7 seconds; an enormous 1.7-second difference.

The Straight Bits

The new F-Type accelerated from 0-60 mph in 5.4 seconds on its way to a quarter mile in 14.1 seconds at 99.7 mph. That’s about a second behind the aforementioned F-Type S (rebranded “R-Dynamic” for 2018, by the way), and more than a second behind that same, pesky Cayman with its 4.1-second 0-60 time and 12.5-second 111.2-mph quarter mile.

Associate road test editor Erick Ayapana found that the F-Type has an odd launch mode: “In Dynamic mode with traction- and stability-control disabled, apply full brake, lightly tap on the accelerator, wait for launch mode to activate, then fully depress accelerator pedal. The engine holds at 3,100 rpm until you release the brakes. Pretty consistent times, and launch mode shaves more than a second from acceleration times compared to a normal launch.”

He also liked the engine note, but he was at full throttle the entire time. When testing the brakes, Ayapana said, “Lots of noise once ABS activates… sounds like it’s pounding a hole through the firewall!” Echoing the other test driver, he added, “I wish there was better feel in the pedal to more easily modulate under hard braking. Brakes still felt strong and consistent after five stops.”

In the “Car Park” and On the Road

Outside the scrutiny of our test track and data-logging equipment, the 2018 F-Type 2.0 looks and feels special. Besides the beckoning way it looks simply sitting in a parking stall, the new LED lights come to life when unlocking it with the remote (our tester also had the $460 keyless entry option), and the flush-fitted door handles tilt out to greet and grant access. For the 2018 model year, Jaguar added satin-chrome finishes to the starter button and gearshift paddles and bright-chrome finish to the air vents, steering wheel, and doors’ switchgear. It does add a touch of luxury where there wasn’t before.

There’s still a sense of anticipation when pressing the large starter button, but what’s missing is the engine erupting when it fires—like the V-6 and V-8 F-Types do. Those F-Types are notorious for their bellowing, barking, and snarling engines. It’s practically their calling card, which is why it’s so disheartening that the four-cylinder’s sound is completely disappointing most of the time. Start the Jag and you hear the I-4’s 2,900-psi fuel injection system and valvetrain ticking and clattering away like a diesel. It sounds mechanical, but not in the good way. You are left wanting that aural feedback, unless it’s at wide-open throttle (with the standard, active sport exhaust open), or just after abruptly lifting off the throttle, when the exhaust crackles in overrun. Sorry, but this engine doesn’t sound sporting at all. We can think of several turbo-fours that sound far better, including that of our 2018 Car of the Year, the Alfa Romeo Giulia.

Compared to other Jaguars’ rotating, knurled-puck transmission selector, the F-Type’s stubby and substantial pistol-grip shifter is more intuitive and easier to operate without a glance. Jaguar gets bonus points for its manual-mode orientation that grants upshifts with a pull of the shifter toward the driver. We’ll forgive family sedans and SUVs for formatting it the other way around (pulling the shifter toward you to downshift, as if reining in a horse), but this is the proper, race-bred way for a sporting car. The metallic, steering-wheel-mounted shift paddles also feel substantial.

In normal drive mode and the transmission set in Drive, the driveline feels dull, uninspiring, and as if it’s in frugal mode. It became habit to nudge shifter into S-Drive and the rocker toward the checkered flag that engages Dynamic mode. This sharpens throttle and transmission response to better the match expectations. Even in Dynamic mode, the engine disappears from the experience (spinning at just 1,900 rpm at 60 mph) at highway speeds, and there’s little wind or road noise. In Dynamic mode, passing maneuvers are quickly obeyed, taking just 2.7 seconds to accelerate from 45 to 65 mph.

The eight-speed automatic is rarely, if ever, caught confused or lacking response, dropping a couple gears at once when asked to. Our Real MPG team used normal mode in Drive to extract 21.0 mpg city, 32.3 mpg highway for a combined 25.0 mpg result—closely mirroring the EPA’s 23/30/26 mpg estimates. It is reasonably frugal with a gallon of gas.

Because Jaguar’s adaptive dampers are not available on this base model, monotube shocks have been calibrated to deliver a good balance of compliance, ride comfort, and athleticism. Even with our car’s optional 19-inch wheels ($1,020) and 245/40R19 94Y front and 275/30R19 96Y Pirelli P Zero tires, the car retained its light-footed spryness and the ride was hardly punishing.

Interior

As mentioned earlier, the F-Type’s slimline seats are fabulous, less bulky, and are upholstered in new leather/faux suede. Ours were optionally heated within the $1,380 “Climate Pack 1” that also includes two-zone auto climate control, and a heated windshield and steering wheel. Forward sightlines are very good with little notice of the A-pillars; the sensible-height beltline doesn’t cause a sense of claustrophobia like some other coupes do. A rear-view camera and rear parking sensors are standard — however, the restricted view from the rear-view mirror while driving only allows a driver to see what’s directly behind. Side mirrors are similarly limited, so we’d highly recommend the blind-spot monitor and reverse-traffic detection option for $460, and toss in the front parking aid for $285 to cover all the bases.